Days of Fire and Thunder
by Cyblade Silver
Summary: X-Day: Chronos' day of days dawns, bringing change to a world unprepared for it. Still, the more things change, the more they stay the same.
1. Daybreak

**Disclaimer:**_I don't own Guyver, and the concept of the Anti Chronos Task Force in general belongs to the people at Warrior Guyver. However, the plot of this story, and the characters of Ryan Crouger, Ingriam Mirabilis, Drake Shepherd, Samarubu, and most of the ACTF soldiers - save for Colonel Atkins himself - belong to me. Please note, this **is** a war story, so their will be combat casualties, and injuries; this story has never really been for the faint of heart, but this installment in particular is pretty brutal._

**Days of Fire and Thunder**

Ryan landed on the coast of Japan well before sunrise, still in Hypertime. Elegen was conked out in the back of his mind, having taken his turn to fly while Ryan himself "slept" a while ago. His short break over, Ryan lifted off into the air and flew off in the direction of Agitos latest safehouse.

XxXxX

The sun rose, as it had done since before there were sentient creatures to bear witness to it. However, the new day this particular sunrise heralded would witness both a death and a rebirth. Silha, the hidden island in the Atlantic Ocean that was home to Alkanphel and the last refuge of the Advents' failed experiments, was, in fact, the _second_ place to receive the light of the newly-breaking day.

However, since all of the main players in this new game were waiting on their leader's signal, that didn't count for much.

Alkanphel, watching from the highest point of his temple as the light of the new dawn bled pinks and golden yellows into the clouds on the far edge of the horizon, closed his eyes just as the sun's light reached him. Stretching out with his telepathic power, Chronos' Supreme Overlord reached into the minds of his eleven children. The message he sent was a deceptively simple one:

_-It begins today, my Zoalords. I know that you will not disappoint me.-_

XxXxX

Fried'rich van Purg'stall, who had just begun his daily routine at Chronos Japan Section's Cloud Tower, heard the message his Lord sent with mingled anticipation and trepidation. Plucking a small, plastic keycard from a holder secreted at the back of his largest desk drawer, he rose from his desk at last. His long, white robe whispered over the floor as Fried'rich made his way to the express elevator that served his office.

Hitting the call button, he stepped into the elevator and hit the button that would close the doors; he did not have the luxury of waiting for them, not on this day of days. Inserting his keycard into the reader, Fried'rich pressed the button that would take him to the lowest level of Cloud Tower's extensive sub-basement. A level that even the most loyal of his subordinates were strictly prohibited from entering.

The doors closed, sealing Fried'rich within the elevator car, and he felt the deep, comforting thrumming of the elevator's motor in his feet, legs, and back as he descended. Reaching out with his own telepathic powers, Fried'rich contacted Lord Alkanphel.

_-I hear your words, my Lord Alkanphel. All will be done as you command.-_

XxXxX

In one of the mid-level processing laboratories of Cloud Tower's sub-basement, Imakarum Mirabilis also received the telepathic orders of his Lord. Standing in front of a row of five processing tanks, Imakarum smirked slightly. This was what he had been born for. As Masaki Murakami's sole purpose in life had been to cause harm and destruction to Chronos, so Imakarum's was to protect Chronos' interests.

And to annihilate Chronos' enemies: these five newly processed Zoanoids standing before him would contribute nicely to that goal.

XxXxX

Shin Rubeo Amniculus, who had been transferred back to the North American Section when Dr. Balkus had been called away to oversee the development and implementation of certain facets of the Ark project, also received his Lord Alkanphel's orders. Striding out of his darkened room, Shin removed his keycard from the top drawer of his desk.

Continuing onward to his own private elevator, Shin proceeded to repeat the steps that his old friend Fried'rich van Purg'stall had performed within Cloud Tower.

_-I have heard your words, my Lord Alkanphel. I will proceed according to your instructions.-_

XxXxX

In the main office of the Paradise Valley Health Spa in Brazil, behind a door labeled "Office of Walter Daniels, CEO", the Zoalord Waferdanos had just received his orders and was making ready to carry them out. His keycard already in hand, Waferdanos entered his own private elevator and pressed the button that would take him to Chronos Brazil's lowest level. As the elevator descended, Waferdanos reflected on how very pleased he would be not to have the humans referring to him by an assumed name anymore.

"Walter Daniels", after all, was simply a convenient fiction. A comforting lie he told those who were not yet ready to know him for who and what he truly was. He was more than happy to give up such ridiculous pretenses.

_-I have heard your orders, Lord Alkanphel. X-Day will not fail, I promise you.-_

XxXxX

In his room at the Genesis Tower, main base of Chronos' Genesis Foundation, the sleeping form of Ingriam Mirabilis was awakened suddenly by Alkanphel's telepathic summons. Blinking in the pre-dawn darkness, Ingriam rubbed at his closed eyes with the back of his right hand. Yawning, he crawled out from under the covers and made his way to the end of the bed.

He was careful not to wake big brother Zektor - or at least he thought he was - but the Hyper Zoanoid sat up and blinked at him when he got out from under the covers.

"Good not-quite-morning, kidlet," Zektor said. "What's got you up at _this_ godawful hour?"

"It's today," he said, practically bouncing out of bed on the way to change into his battle uniform; Alkanphel had said that he was supposed to wear it from now on.

As he went over to his closet to get his uniform and put his pajamas in the hamper, Ingriam heard Zektor call out to him.

"Are you feeling all right? You were having nightmares pretty badly last night before you asked me to stay here with you while you slept."

"I'm okay," he said.

He really wished Dad hadn't gone away, since they had always spent the night together, and he was getting lonely. Tonight was the first night he'd had to ask big brother Zektor to come and sleep with him.

Once he'd gotten the main part of his uniform on - the part that looked like pajamas but weren't - Ingriam started to pull on his boots. Big brother Zektor came up behind him and zipped up the back of his uniform without him even having to ask, so that was nice. The stand with his armor on it wasn't very far from the closet, so he closed the door and headed over to it.

Big brother Zektor was waiting for him there. "Want me to help you with this?"

"Thanks!" he said.

"So," Zektor said, as Ingriam held his arms out for his big brother. "Care to tell me whats got you up at _this_ hour? Youre not usually one for getting up before you have to, kidlet."

"It's X-Day today!"

Zektor whistled; he had a really cool whistle. "Big day, then. You'd better get going."

Ingriam smiled, turning away from his armor stand and heading for his office. He could hear big brother Zektor's heavy footfalls behind him, and he was happy to know that his big brother was there; biting his lip, he wished his dad was with him. This was a really important day for Chronos, Alkanphel had told him so.

Hurrying over to his desk, he took out his keycard. Mr. Luggnagg's had already been shredded, and Mr. Dr. Balkus had told him their individual key cards were tied to them. He hadn't really understood how, but both Dad and Mr. Dr. Balkus had said it was for the best that he have a new one. Then he headed over to the back of his office where big brother Zektor had shown him the elevator that only he could use.

Well, Mr. Luggnagg could have used it, too, but he was dead so he didn't count.

XxXxX

"Good luck down there, kidlet," he said as the elevator's soft chime rang and the doors opened smoothly. "Don't stretch yourself too far."

"I won't," their little Overlord said, smiling at him even as the elevator doors closed and sealed him inside.

Shaking off the melancholy that had briefly settled over him, Zektor determinedly left the room. He had troops to rally, same as the kid.


	2. Preparation

Inside the elevator, Ingriam stuck his keycard into the reader slot and hit the button for the last of the sub-basement levels. Mr. Shin had told him all about what he would find down there, but he still didn't quite know what to expect. Mr. Shin really hadn't explained it all _that _well.

_-I heard you, Alkanphel,-_ he said, smiling as he leaned back against the far wall of the elevator. _-I'll be all the way down in about ten minutes, I think. I'll do things just like you told me to.-_

XxXxX

Tuaha De Galenos, deep in the heart of Chronos' Antarctica Research Station, was the next to react to Lord Alkanphel's orders. Standing up from the plush throne where hed been settled while he oversaw the operation of his Section, Galenos made for the corridor that would lead him to the control spire. From there, it would be quite simple to utilize the elevator to reach the lowest of the lower levels.

The Zoanoids that staffed these upper levels - Chaltu, Maldu, Ramochis, Govilba, Govoran, and all of the other cold-adapted Zoanoids that Chronos had produced over the centuries - all nodded respectfully to him as he passed them on his way to the elevator. The large staff of human scientists was stationed in the deeper levels of the facility, and he was satisfied with that.

Stepping into his private elevator, Galenos inserted his keycard and pressed the button that would take him into the deepest basement levels.

_-The orders that you have given will be followed, Lord Alkanphel. I will see to it that X-Day goes as you have planned.-_

XxXxX

Edward Caerleon, the Zoalord overseer of the East Eurasia Section and Chronos United Kingdoms' Royal College of Life Sciences, rose from his bed and dressed swiftly. His shoulder armor settled firmly on his body, Edward made his way into his office and removed his keycard from the hidden drawer in his desk. Once inside his private elevator, he inserted the card into the reader, pressed the button that would take him to the deepest of the sub-basement levels, and watched the elevator doors slide closed in front of him.

_-It will be done as you say, Lord Alkanphel. X-Day shall not fail.-_

XxXxX

Kaburaal Khan, in his headquarters at Chronos Egypts' Isis Medical Institute, also climbed up and out of his resting place. Unlike Edward, Ingriam, and most of the other Zoalords, Khan slept in something more analogous to a reclining chair than the beds that were generally preferred.

Chronos Egypts' main branch was staffed almost exclusively with Zoanoids, something that had happened by design rather than by accident. Khan was particularly pleased with it, for more reasons than simply that - with his size and apparent age - humans were often inclined to mock him. Never to his face, of course; nonetheless, his Zoanoids made it very possible for a Zoalord like Khan to oversee the day-to-day workings of these facilities. Tucking his legs up into a half-lotus position, Khan reached out with his own telepathic abilities, seeking the only other man who was truly on his side.

_-It seems we're underway. Be sure to make things look plausible.-_

_-I fully intend to. Make sure that you do the same, Roushi.-_

_-Of course,-_ he responded calmly.

Nodding to himself with a sense of satisfaction, Khan rose from his seat and left his quarters. His office was empty, as he had been expecting considering how early it was - in local time, of course. Making his way over to his desk, he telekinetically retrieved his personal keycard. Continuing over to his private elevator, he placed the card into the reader and watched as the doors slid closed before him.

Today would doubtless be an... interesting day, both an end and a beginning.

XxXxX

Li Yentsui, who preferred to be known as Rienzi among his fellow Lords when he was in human form, was just starting his day when he received the orders from Lord Alkanphel. One of his aides - he could never quite recall the human's name - was delivering the morning's reports when Rienzi rose and left his desk, keycard in hand.

"Mr. Yentsui, sir? Is something bothering you?"

"No," he said, pleased by the human's concern, however unwarranted it would prove to be. "Merely something that I must attend to. Take care of things here in my absence."

"Yes, sir," the human said with a respectful bow.

Returning to his personal quarters, Rienzi swiftly shed his standard attire and donned his Council uniform. Once the jumpsuit had been arranged to his liking, the armor and robes settled properly, he turned to make for his private elevator. By his own request, the elevator was situated at the far end of his quarters; for this reason Rienzi was unconcerned about being in full regalia.

His aide would not be so discourteous as to barge into his quarters without permission, and the man would be swiftly dealt with in any case.

His keycard firmly in hand, he inserted it into the reader and leaned back against the far wall as the doors slid closed. The thrum of the elevator's motor traveled up through his legs, a sensation he took note of for a few moments before swiftly turning his attention to more important matters.

_-Lord Alkanphel, I have heard your orders. I shall not fail; _X-Day_ shall not fail.-_

XxXxX

Jearvill Bun Hiyern, overseer of the Good Life Health Spa that was Chronos' cover in the more densely populated areas of the Australia Section, was mildly startled out of his usual routine by the telepathic message from Chronos Supreme Overlord. _Hmm. So it really _is_ going to happen today,_ the Tenth Zoalord mused, rising from his comfortable chair and making for his desk. Plucking his keycard from its secured drawer, he paused for a moment as he felt the unmistakable sensation of attempted telepathic contact. Thinking he knew who was attempting to contact him, he lowered his mental barriers slightly.

_-It seems we're underway; be sure to make things look plausible.-_ As he had suspected, it was indeed Khan.

_-I fully intend to. Make sure that you do the same, Roushi,-_ he responded; it was just as he had intended to do, after all.

_-Of course.-_

_Of course,_ he echoed silently, slipping his keycard into the reader slot and listening to the hum of the elevators motor as it activated for the first time in a _very_ long while indeed. As the doors closed before him, Hiyern smiled: today would be a most... interesting day.

XxXxX

Dr. Hamilcal Balkus, who had transferred to the Dead Sea Plant in order to supervise the Ark project, also received the telepathic message from his master. He was unsurprised by both the message and its content, as the Council had all discussed their course of action and come to a consensus yesterday.

_-Alkanphel, my Lord, the Ark project proceeds on schedule. I estimate that it will be prepared for launch in four to five months, perhaps less if circumstances are favorable.-_

_-I'm pleased to hear that, Hamilcal. Stay and continue your work; the others will be able to attend to X-Day itself.-_

_-Of course, my Lord.-_ Truthfully, he had been expecting such orders; it would not do to have his own telepathic abilities conflicting with those of Kaburaal.

There were not many Zoanoids staffing this sector, and none of them were male, a provision that he had implemented when he had returned. With X-Day dawning, the main force of Zoanoids that had been processed at this facility needed to be concentrating on that rather than anything else.


	3. Signals

Fried'rich, hearing the gentle chime that indicated that the elevator had reached its destination, waited another moment for the doors to open. Presently, they did, and he stepped out into the room beyond for only the second time in his life. The room itself was steel, stainless, antiseptic, designed for the sole purpose of amplifying a Zoalord's telepathic waves and propagating them over a much larger area than normally possible. That was the essential purpose of the Psychic Wave Generator.

The only thing that broke the monotony of the Generator room was the single throne-like chair in the center of it. Made of the same materials as the room itself and equipped with extremely specialized projection technology, this was the heart of the Psychic Wave Generator. Settling himself into the chair for the first time since the Generator room had been built, Fried'rich took a deep, steadying breath.

Half closing his eyes, Fried'rich thumbed a small inset switch, then toggled it. The soft "click" was lost to even his ears amid the thrumming of the Generator as it activated. The deep, powerful resonance worked its way into Fried'rich's bones, making him feel as if every one of them was rattling softly. Even as he experienced that purely physical sensation, however, he was slowly becoming detached from _all_ physical sensations.

His mind was riding the resonance emitted by the Generator, his consciousness spreading out to encompass and envelop every Zoanoid within the Japan Section. For a moment, Fried'rich felt regret for the Sleeper Unit Zoanoids that would be called upon during this battle. To lose one's very _identity_... still, it would only be for this one single day; after the last remnants of the old systems had been swept away, Chronos would build something far better with the world that remained.

It helped immensely when he remembered that.

XxXxX

Shin, from his position in the Psychic Wave Generator far beneath the Pillars of Heaven, was also extending his mental influence over the whole of the North American Section, starting with Washington State and swiftly moving outward to encompass the whole of his own Section. Taking a deep breath, even as he began to feel detached from his corporeal form, Shin prepared himself to assume command of the North American Section.

XxXxX

Waferdanos, feeling his own mind reaching out to encompass every Zoanoid within the South American Section, spared a fond thought for his Subjecti. Like them, the Zoanoids he was now calling to would be loyal to him above all others. Only another Zoalord would be able to contest his authority now, and there was no reason for them to do such a thing.

The humans might try to contest his will, but they were of very little consequence.

XxXxX

Sitting in the big metal chair in the middle of the Generator room, Ingriam whimpered softly. He felt like his mind was being ripped out of his body and spread all over the Africa Section; he didn't like that feeling, not one bit. The rattling made his bones feel funny, too, so that was another thing not to like about what he was doing.

His tight grip on the armrests of the Generator's chair would have been forceful enough to dent them if they had been made of weaker alloys. Ingriam, however, was far too focused on the army of Zoanoids he was calling together, as well as his twin discomforts at being stretched so mentally thin and the humming rattling in his bones to care much about the material strength of his chair.

_-Little one.-_

_-Alkanphel?-_

_-I heard your cries, little one. Let me help you.-_

_-Thanks, Alkanphel.-_

Ingriam's eyes fluttered briefly, as Alkanphel gently slipped into his mind, showing him what hed been doing wrong and helping him adjust to what was happening.

_-Do you understand how to control your territory now, my little one?-_

_-Yeah. I should be able to do it a lot better now. Thanks, Alkanphel!-_

XxXxX

Tuaha, his eyes closed to enable him focus all the more intently, called all of his Zoanoids. He was sending the majority of them to the main continental branches of Chronos - South America, Africa, and Australia - while retaining a decent reserve force to deal with any visiting humans. While there were not many humans who would stay in such a place as his Antarctica Research Station by choice, it was always preferable not to take unnecessary risks.

XxXxX

As his mind reached out to encompass the Zoanoids within his East Eurasia Section, Edward Caerleon wondered for a moment exactly how long the pitiful armed forces of his Section would last. Not long at all, he suspected. Immersing himself in the Generator's resonance, Caerleon prepared his forces to move forward.

XxXxX

Kaburaal, feeling the deep resonance of the fully activated Psychic Wave Generator humming in his bones, took hold of every one of the processed humans within his Mid Eurasia Section. It was a heady sensation, this absolute control of his, and all the moreso considering the fact that old man Balkus was hard at work on the Ark project in this Section's very own Dead Sea Plant. It almost felt as if he were defying the old scientist by taking control of his Zoanoids out from under him. Not that it was true, but it _was_ amusing to think that way.

Immersing himself in their minds, Kaburaal Khan ordered his army of obedient Zoanoids-to-be to transform.

XxXxX

From within the deepest level of his facility in the heart of Beijing, Rienzi's mental waves reached out to the populations of China, Russia, and all of the smaller territories within his West Eurasia Section. He did not particularly care if the humans objected to what he was doing. They belonged to Chronos, after all.

XxXxX

Jearvill, extending his telepathic control over his swiftly expanding army of Zoanoids, felt a profound sense of satisfaction. Roushi _had_ advised him to make sure things appeared stable in his Section, and what could be more indicative of stability than a swift and final victory?

XxXxX

All at once, all over the world, populations of once-normal men were turned into savage, ravening beasts. Almost as one, the newly formed armies of Zoanoids began to systematically destroy the weapons their enemies might have otherwise attempted to use against them.


	4. Orders

In the waters of the Atlantic, within the edges of Shin's territory, a group of aquatic-type Zoanoids were pursuing a US Navy submarine. At the center of the group swam a single lithe Sharru-type. The Zoanoids could clearly see their target up ahead, in spite of all the visual degradation caused by the effects of the water. In fact, that was pretty much a non-factor for them.

The foremost member of the Zoanoid hunting party, one of the fastest swimmers Chronos' Arizona Base One had produced so far, grinned as he caught sight of the sub's massive bulk. His model name was Bystoma, and he was one of five Zoanoids just like him. Counting Sharru and the two Eurenorm, that made eight aquatic-type Zoanoids.

The humans aboard that tin can wouldn't even know what hit them.

At a predetermined signal - the one Lord Shin had just given a second ago - the lead Bystoma swam up behind the Sharru and laced his fingers together behind her feet. Two of his fellow Bystoma pulled Sharru backwards so she would rest more snugly against their leader's hands as he pulled his arms in closer to his body. They were scrupulously careful not to scratch or cut their female compatriot's feet or ankles with their poisonous claws.

The lead Bystoma, bracing his feet against the shoulders of the two Eurenorm, launched Sharru like a high-speed torpedo. Then the eight of them scattered in order to avoid the _actual_ high-speed torpedoes the sub's crew had just launched at them. Sharru, with the quicker reaction time (over and above that of all but the most advanced Hyper Zoanoids) granted to all of her kind, was able to dodge relatively easily.

Seeing that the cover for the torpedo tube was just starting to close, Sharru accelerated for all she was worth. Catching hold of the edge of the cover with her left hand, she wrenched it right back open again. Folding and deforming the metal with both hands, Sharru dove into the currently empty space.

Her narrow shoulders scraped against the walls as she slithered through the tube up to the hatch. It was closed for the moment, but she was well aware that that would soon change.

When the hatch was opened again, Sharru dove out. Catching the neck of the Navy rat standing nearby with the claws of her left hand, she ripped out his throat as her momentum carried her forward. Turning and strolling back over to the hatch, she slammed it shut and locked it before the entire room could flood. Not that something like that would have been a problem for her, since she had gills and all, but the humans she had been sent here for would all drown if their sub was left to flood, and her orders had been specific: bring the Navy rats in for processing.

Some of them _had_ to be good stock, after all.

XxXxX

In the skies over Mogadishu, the battle between the US Air Force and Chronos Africa Section's legion of flying Zoanoid soldiers raged. Twenty F-14 Tomcats and twenty F-15 Strike Eagles engaged a group of eagle-like Davu and parrot-like Valvatos of equal size.

One of the Davu hammered the cockpit glass of an attacking F-15, battering it open and ripping it away with the strong, dexterous talons of his left foot. Grabbing the pilot with his three wing-mounted claws, Davu threw him out of the plane to his death on the hard ground far below. The loud buzzing of a squad of Galma, combined with the powerful wingbeats of a slightly larger group of bat-like Vikarr, were audible even over the roaring of the aircraft engines and the beating of their own wings.

For a few moments, at least.

The arrival of more of their own boosted the morale of the Zoanoids, just as it would have done for any group of soldiers. For all of their inhuman appearance - with the clear exception of the model III Enzymes, who were just dumb, savage beasts - the Zoanoids created by Chronos' various branches were soldiers at heart. This held true whether they were created willingly or not.

A Valvatos bashed open the canopy of an attacking F-14 with several blows from its beak, then wrestled the pilot out of his plane by the shoulders and threw him to the ground. A passing Davu, whether out of malice or just a twisted need for amusement, kicked the pilot in the midsection. The Davu's hard, sharp talons opened the man like a gutted fish, spilling his entrails out into the sky and leaving him screaming as he clutched at the bloody mess that had once been his abdomen.

XxXxX

Zektor's headlong charge knocked the big-ass Humvee on its back, leaving Elegen free to flash-fry the stupid Army ants that'd been cowering inside it. He wasn't really worried about them, since those pansy-assed weaklings were barely holding their own against the Africa Section's complement of _Standard _Zoanoids. They didn't have a snowball's chance in hell of making their way past even one contingent of Hyper Zoanoids, much less the ten that'd been sent to deal with them.

No, what had Zektor worried was the mental state of their little Overlord. The fact that the kidlet's mental presence had stabilized and evened out notwithstanding, the first thing Zektor was going to do when he'd finished squashing the Army ants that were making such a nuisance of themselves was to go and find Ingriam. Zoalord or not, the kidlet _had_ to be getting freaked out by all of this.

The kidlet's first efforts at command and control had been - there wasn't any more delicate way of putting it - shaky, and kinda pathetic. Sure, he'd gotten a lot better after the first few minutes, but Zektor was still pretty concerned. And that was why, as soon as all of this was over and done with and he could track the kidlet down, he was going to whisk him off to the cafeteria and stuff him full of pudding, cake, and/or brownies until the kidlet felt like himself again.

But all that was for later; right now, there were Army ants that needed squashing.

XxXxX

Panic had thoroughly engulfed the city of Colorado Springs once the huge groups of human-sized - and _larger_ - monsters had started destroying seemingly anything and everything in their path. The police had used everything in their considerable arsenal to hold them back, to drive them off, but the burned-out hulks of overturned cars were a mute testament to their failure. So were the scattered corpses of maimed officers.

SWAT had been called in sometime during the chaos, and that was when a new type of creature had started showing up. It seemed made of nothing more than armored skin, sharp spikes, overpowered muscles, and huge claws. It was those claws that posed the greatest problems for the SWAT teams and the few regiments of the Colorado National Guard that had managed to make it past the armies of monsters blockading the city.

Those claws could shear through the body of an armored car with barely any appreciable loss in speed, and the creature had the strength to tip over a fully loaded SWAT van. Needless to say, this wasnt a good day to be in law enforcement.

XxXxX

Neagle, a newly deployed model from Chronos' Arizona Base One, had just finished off a particularly persistent knot of SWAT officers. They weren't all that tough, but there _were _a lot of them - enough to make a bit of a nuisance of themselves. Not as much as the toy soldiers, but Neagle took what fun he could get.

"All right, these chumps are through. Let's get moving; we've got people to round up for processing." All of this was belted out by their commanding officer - a big, spiky Hyper named Danaplus - in a voice that would have made drill sergeants proud.

Neagle, his seven fellow Neagle, the eight Geefog, and the thirteen Chaltu that made up the remainder of their squad all responded in the affirmative with varying degrees of enthusiasm. This guy _was_ their commander, after all. Still, his perkiness could start to grate on your nerves after awhile.

XxXxX

It was the same situation playing out with minor variations all over the world: military and law enforcement engaging Zoanoids and being brutally slaughtered. There was also massive infighting among the ranks of the defenders as those who had been unknowingly or unwillingly processed transformed into Zoanoids under the influence of the Section's Zoalord.

Tanks, aircraft, and any other kind of vehicle that might have been used in the fight against Chronos were destroyed without fail as the ones who might have used them were transformed. Everywhere the decimated, burned-out hulks of any vehicle unfortunate enough to cross their paths stood as a mute testament to the strength of the Zoanoids the world's militaries now faced.

There were only three bastions of resistance left in the world, only three places where the Zoanoid armies were being driven back from their appointed goals. Even then, only two of them were _true_ bastions of resistance. The third was merely the last efforts of the old order to survive against the vanguards of the new.


	5. Convergence

First Lieutenant Daniel Marsters paused only to take a short breath. The Zoanoid had been transforming when he'd shot it dead, and what remained of the corpse still looked like some kind of freakish were-jackal. At least up until it started to dissolve into a steaming, reddish puddle.

Taking out his radio, Marsters thumbed the switch. "Heads up, people; I think we're about to have some animal-control problems."

"We'll keep that in mind, sir," one of the other unit commanders - he couldn't remember exactly who at the moment - said calmly. "Just make sure to watch out for the bugs, sir. You know that they usually come charging in to support the animals when they're sent out."

"Will do. Over and out." Deactivating his radio, Marsters shouldered his modified P90 and moved carefully down the corridors of the White House.

He wasnt done hunting just yet.

XxXxX

Second Lieutenant Dean Mckay shut down his radio, tucked it away in one of the many pockets of his BDUs, then raised his Zoanoid Buster Mk II. There were still Zoanoids loose here: he knew that from his own experience, and from the reports he'd been getting from the other teams stationed here. There was no way on God's green earth he was ever going to let Chronos' army of genetic mutants overrun the _White House_, and he knew that all of the others shared his determination.

They wouldn't be ACTF if they didn't.

He wished for a minute that those Guyver kids he'd heard about had been able to contribute - just one of them would have been a great boost for morale, to say nothing of the damage they could have done to the Zoanoids. Still, those boys probably had more than enough shit of their own to deal with. Reports had been coming in of Zoanoid attacks happening all over the world.

It looked like this was the big one.

He'd caught the tail end of one news report and the very beginning of another, since his patrol route had taken him past a room with the television on. Plus the tech-heads over in Intel had been going over the data they'd managed to hack from Chronos' various files with a fine-toothed comb, and everything they had come up with lately pointed to something big going down on May 3rd. Today. Now he and the rest of his detachment of ACTF were here to stop it.

Whatever the cost.

XxXxX

After those strange reports had begun coming in, a small detail of Secret Service agents had been assigned to protect him. When they started changing - bursting out of their clothes like the Incredible Hulk and _mutating_ into freakish man-beasts - he'd started to wonder if someone had managed to slip hallucinogenic drugs into his morning cup of coffee without any of his various staff members noticing. Then, when another group of Secret Service personnel had pulled out strange, powerful-looking guns and proceeded to shoot every single one of the man-beasts before they could do more than look surprised about the action, he had started to wonder if he was even awake.

Once the corpses of said man-beasts had dissolved into red, smoking puddles and he'd been hustled out of his office by people he wasn't entirely sure were Secret Service, the reality of his situation was been driven home by the simple realization that one did _not _feel physical sensations this clearly in a mere dream. As strange as all of it was, it _was_ clearly happening.

Now, as he was quickly being escorted through the halls of the White House by a group made up of Army personnel, President Josiah Bartlett wondered what the hell was actually going on. The soldiers protecting him - moving through the halls with their weapons at the ready - were almost constantly speaking on their radios, either giving or receiving updates on the situation as it unfolded. A loud screech, high-pitched and grating, broke into his thoughts.

"What the hell is _that_ thing?" he demanded.

For there in front of them - charging all-out toward their group - was a hulking, white-furred, insectile man-beast with four huge pincers at the end of four long legs were sticking out of its back.

"They're sending _Guyver-killers _after us now?" the soldier on his immediate right demanded.

"Yeah; really makes you feel special, don't it?" one of the other soldiers jibed; Jeb didnt think much of the man's sense of humor.

"What on Earth is a Guyver killer?" he asked, then paused for a moment as the full extent of his ignorance dawned on him. "For that matter, what on Earth is a _Guyver_?

"We'll brief you on the situation as soon as we all manage to get the hell out of Dodge City, Mr. President," a woman informed him brusquely. She seemed to be in charge of this small detachment of soldiers. "There isn't the time to get into detail here."

Jeb nodded, at which point two more man-beasts - these looking like upright jackals with hugely oversized muscles - came charging in to attack. The soldiers around him calmly raised their weapons and fired a volley; it was clear they were used to dealing with these kinds of creatures, but the question of where they had acquired their expertise was still open. As the corpses dissolved again, Jeb found the sight a bit less surprising, if only because he'd seen it before.

"Any chance of getting out of this place by air?" the team leader asked over her radio.

Wanting to know how they were all going to be able to escape from the creatures attacking his White House, Jeb listened intently to the conversation.

"Not unless you think you can make it past an entire swarm of Type Threes, not to mention an entire Chronos Air Force. The Birds and Bugs are out in force," the voice on the radio said with grim humor.

"Damn, they're bringing in Type _Threes _now?" she asked, though he thought that might have been a rhetorical question. "My squad just had a close encounter with a Type Two. How many Type Threes would you estimate are out there?"

"Eighty, though it's probably closer to one hundred, all told."

"Damn them straight to hell," she said, with a steely calm Jeb almost found himself envying.

"Yeah, my sentiments exactly. Anything that isn't a Zoanoid is getting grounded permanently, in the air _and_ on the ground."

All of this Bartlett just managed to hear over the sounds of gunfire, running feet, and the far off, animalistic howls of whatever they were fighting. Zoanoids, apparently.

"These creatures you're fighting, they're called Zoanoids?" Jeb asked, wanting confirmation about what he had just heard.

"Yessir, Mr. President," the team-leader said.

"Then why are you referring to them as Guyver killers? And what on Earth are type twos and threes?"

"A Guyver-killer is just a specially-bred Zoanoid, like a Hyper Zoanoid, or an aerial type," she explained, all the while moving down the corridors and searching out new targets; Jeb could respect that kind of dedication.

_"Hyper_ Zoanoids?" he asked, confused.

"A Hyper Zoanoid is substantially stronger than-"

The rest of what she would most likely have said was cut off when the wall on their left was completely smashed in. The huge creature that came through the hole was almost certainly a Zoanoid of some sort and looked like something out of a child's worst nightmare. That _this _one was larger and looked a great deal more capable of causing harm than any of the others Jeb had seen before made him decidedly uneasy.

The fact that the creature was covered head-to-toe in spikes of varying sizes only contributed to that feeling.

"Shit," the team-leader - he would need to ask her name sometime, if only to stop himself from feeling like such an idiot - hissed. "It's one of those damned Danaplus we were briefed on."

"They're sending in _Hypers_ now?" one of the other soldiers groused. "As if the Guyver-killers weren't enough."

"Well, at least we know we must be doing _something_ right, since they're so determined to kill us," one of the _other_ other soldiers said.

"All right, boys, enough fun and games," their team-leader said, drawing an almost complete silence from the soldiers in her group. "Get me that Cannon we use on these bastards."

"One Big Fuckin' Gun, coming right up, LT!" the soldier in the mid-rear of their group said, sounding almost eager.

There was the sound of something being handed forward, most likely the "cannon" they had been talking about. Then the leader aimed the gun - more of a bazooka, now that he had a chance to look at it - at Danaplus' head and fired. Jeb just managed to spot the words "Hyper Buster" on the side of the barrel before the weapon's extremely loud report caused him to close his eyes instinctively.

Then he heard a loud roar of pain, obviously from that Danaplus creature, and a somewhat louder explosion.

When he could look again without wincing from the light, Jeb found himself staring at the creature's headless corpse as it fell to the floor. The way all of the forward-facing spines on the creatures upper-body got stuck when he hit the floor was almost funny; the way the corpse started decomposing fast enough for him to actually observe the changes was just strange. And no matter how many times he saw such a sight, it would always _be_ strange.

Not that he got to observe them for very long, since with this position obviously compromised, the soldiers were moving out quickly.

"So what's your name, soldier?" he asked the woman leading them.

"Danielle Marsters, Mr. President. ACTF First Lieutenant."

"ACTF? I've never heard of _that_ unit designation before," he said, his curiosity quickly becoming aroused.

"You might have been briefed about us and just not been aware of it, Mr. President," First Lieutenant Marsters said reasonably. "We're under the command of Colonel Atkins."

"Wait, Colonel Atkins?" Jeb asked, wondering if there could be two people with the same rank and last name, or if this was indeed the man he was thinking of. "Colonel Aiden Atkins, head of the Combat Research Division?"

"That was the story, but I get the feeling that our cover's been blown six ways to hell with all these Zoanoids attacking in the open like this." Marsters sounded like she didn't know quite whether she found the situation amusing or not; it would be a morbid amusement, in any case.


	6. Retreat

The city of Los Angeles had become a battlefield, one unlike anything anyone living in the city could remember. None of the battles that had rocked the City of Angels during its long history had ever involved huge, animalistic monsters, after all. They had the raw physical strength to overturn cars, or to pick them up and throw them at fleeing pedestrians.

As was the case in almost every other part of the world, military and police forces were being completely overwhelmed by the attacking Zoanoids. Unlike most other places, however, new forces were emerging to challenge the Zoanoids on equal terms. They were the ones fighting and winning against Chronos' army of mutant soldiers.

XxXxX

Captain Malcolm Fillion, leader of the "Rolling Armor" Stryker division, was on a hunt. Along with his comrades in the still mostly untested "Hellhounds" and "Shadow Wolves" squads of the Mobile Armor division, Captain Fillion kept his eyes open for either civilians that needed rescuing, or other military and civilian defensive units that could benefit from the ACTF's assistance. Since that covered pretty much everyone else, Captain Fillion wasnt feeling too particular about which group he and his people ran into first.

Civilians, cops, Army, or Zoanoids; each of them would demand a different response, but his troops were prepared for anything.

XxXxX

"You sure there's nothing but hostiles in this area?" Mark Berenson asked, fingering the trigger for the plane's bomb-bay doors.

"Positive," came the voice of his fellow pilot, John Henderson, over the comm. "Our guys on the ground already evac'd this area. There's nothing but the enemy."

"Speaking of enemies, you might want to take a look up ahead, sir.

There was about half a minute of dead air, followed by the subdued, "Well, fuck me." It definitely summed up the situation, Berenson had to admit.

There, not so far in front of their squad, their feathered bodies forming a living wall between their squad and the city full of Zoanoids, was a virtual army of flight-type Zoanoids. These were the brown-and-yellow Eagle-looking Zoanoids that had been popping up more and more lately. Berenson remembered being briefed about them: the model-type was called Davu.

They were pretty weak in terms of ballistic resistance, or when confronted with incendiaries or high explosives; still, they came in packs, and what would kill one or two wouldnt be much good against a flock _this_ size.

Still, there was more than one way to skin a cat, or a flock of Zoanoid birds, as the case may be. "All right, you bastards," he said with a harsh grin. "Have I got a surprise for you."

Flipping a switch on his F-15's control board, Berenson retracted the covers on his planes nose-mounted gattling guns. The shells were tungsten carbide and fired at near super-sonic speeds, good for taking out soft-skinned Zoanoids and pretty much lethal to anything below a Hyper. Berenson knew he wasn't the only one hoping that none of _those_ things would show up during this fight.

The shells shredded the Davu before they could even _think_ of massing for a charge.

XxXxX

Reloading his Zoanoid Buster Mk II, Captain Maxwell Carson searched for any other Zoanoids that might try to attack the convoy he and his people had formed up to protect. There were civilians in this convoy, people who had been evacuated from their homes and lives at great risk to both their rescuers and themselves. The convoy reflected the mixed nature of those rescuers, being made up of a couple battered firetrucks, four surviving police cruisers - two with their bar lights ripped off - and ten civilian trucks of various models.

There were also a select few firefighters and cops in the actual convoy itself - those few that hadn't started transforming into Zoanoids and gotten themselves shot on sight. That was also the reason none of the soldiers who weren't affiliated with the ACTF were part of the convoy: they'd either died in fights with Zoanoids, or they'd been Zoanoids themselves. A few of the most level-headed civilian authorities had been given anti-Zoanoid weaponry and briefed on the new situation.

The rest of them - those who still didn't quite believe what it was that they were facing - had taken it upon themselves to tend to the wounded, falling back on their training when rationality seemed to have deserted them.

XxXxX

Jarred Tompson, formerly a highly trained officer in the LAPD, sighed as he scanned the crowd of refugees the Anti Chronos Task Force soldiers - a division that he hadn't even been _aware _of until today - had rescued. Wincing as his left hand gave another painful twinge, he pulled the hand out of his pocket. What was left of it, anyway.

"What was left of it" wasn't much, just the occasionally twitching stump of the heel. That ape-faced bastard he'd encountered during the evacuation of the city hadn't even had the fucking courtesy to bite it off properly, leaving a shredded mass dangling from the end of his wrist, crushed, splintered bones sticking out and everything. It meant the soldiers who'd ended up having to evac _him_ had been forced to - in light of their lack of sterile implements to perform amputations - use more gauze than they would have if that goddamn thing had just bitten his hand off at the wrist like a good little beastie.

Looking over at another of his fellow passengers, Jarred saw the kid staring mindlessly forward. The kid, Milton something-or-other, looked like he had just lost everything in the world that had ever mattered to him. Of course, a lot of people looked like that; the rest of them just looked shell-shocked, like they still couldn't quite believe what was going on, in spite of all the obvious evidence that this was all indeed real. Hell, he'd been the exact same way, up until that ape-faced _thing_ - the ACTF guys had called it a ram-o-cheese, or something like that - had bitten off his hand. He'd learned better after that.

Deciding to see if he could do something for Milton, Jarred moved closer. All of his fellow surviving officers were busy tending to the remaining wounded or trying to comfort the more obviously distraught civilians. So no one was really available at the moment.

Add this to the fact that Milton was the kind of person most people tended to overlook - brown hair, brown eyes, not especially tall or short, not really fat or thin, and _quiet_ on top of all that - and Jarred could tell why most of the civilians in the truck were ignoring him almost entirely. The fact that he was a teenager, and fairly androgynous, only added to the "ignore me, I'm not really here" vibe the kid was giving off. You just didn't _see_ people like that. Well, most people didn't, anyway.

He was trying not to be like most people; _most people_ would have been either dead or severely messed-up by now.

"Hey there, can I sit?" he asked Milton.

"Could I stop you?" the kid volleyed back, with an expression that might have been a wry grin under better circumstances.

"I guess not," he said, settling down in an empty space on the kid's right.

"So, whats _your_ story?" Milton asked.

"Aren't we supposed to be introducing ourselves before we get into the life-stories part of the conversation?" he asked, both bemused and slightly amused.

"Didn't all the normal rules get blown straight to hell when those weird Battle Beasts started showing up?" the kid retorted, smirking.

"Point taken," he conceded with a wry grin of his own. "Still, I _would_ like to know your name."

"Milton. Milton Langston."

"Nice to meet you, Mr. Langston," he said, offering Milton a handshake. "I'm Jarred Tompson."

"You're a cop," Milton observed, taking in his somewhat worse-for-wear uniform. He'd lost his badge somewhere along the line, but today he couldn't really bring himself to care. "How'd you get mixed up in all this? I thought the police were the _first_ ones to get offed by those monster goons. If they didn't end up turning into one of them in the first place, at least."

"I guess I was just one of the lucky ones," he said, offering a one-shouldered shrug; not that he considered himself particularly _lucky_, but he was still glad not to be dead.

"Guess you were," Milton said, leaning back against the wall of the truck; there was really nothing more to say after that.


	7. Contact

Chaltu, having pulled the last of the kids out of the school building before those damaged planes had crashed into it, paused as he felt a sharp tug on the right side of his face.

"Don't pull my whiskers," he said to the little blond boy next to him, the one riding on Gregole's back. Feeling the same kind of tug, in the exact same place, no less, he turned back to the kid. "You do that again and I'm telling Greg to set you back down."

The kid stuck out his tongue, but he did just like Chaltu had told him to in the first place.

"That'll learn 'em," Gregole said, snickering as he bounced the kid a couple times.

"Who's that playing with my tail?" Chaltu wondered aloud, shooting a look back over his right shoulder.

There was a group of first-graders clustered around him, Greg, and the two Ramochis that had stayed out there with them. The older kids who'd had the bad luck to be going to school on this day of days had already been taken to a nearby Chronos safehouse to wait out the rest of the fighting. Now they were all waiting around for the trucks to return (or for a new group to be dispatched) so they could get the rest of the little people out of this charnel house in the making. Chaltu flicked his gaze over the group of little kids gathered around his legs, and sure enough, there was a little girl flipping his tail-tip from one chubby hand to another.

She was a cute little thing, all wavy brown hair and big brown eyes; but then, all of the kids were uniformly adorable as far as he was concerned. Looking out over the group of kids, none of whom were his own, Chaltu felt an overwhelming urge to protect them. It didn't matter that they weren't his own flesh and blood - though privately he doubted that the feelings would have been any stronger if they were - they were helpless out here.

There was a battle going on all around them, and even if that _hadn't_ been the case, these kids needed all the protection they could get. He wondered for a moment if this was what it felt like to be someone's father, then decided that hed better talk to the girl before he went _completely_ mushy.

"Just what do you think you're doing down there?" he asked, gentling his voice so he wouldn't frighten the little girl, even as he crouched down to look her in the eye. Well, close enough, anyway.

"You're a kitty," she said, grinning at him like he was the coolest thing she had ever seen.

"I'm a nice kitty," Chaltu said, chuckling at his own response.

"I like kitties," she said, reaching up to scratch between his ears.

"Oh, is that right?" he asked, playfully thumping her on the back with his tail.

She giggled cutely.

Just then, he began to hear a strange, high-pitched whistling sound coming from not so far off. For just a second, he thought one of the kids had gotten bored and started whistling to pass the time. But no, that didn't sound like any noise a human could make, and since there were no avian-type Zoanoids in the immediate area, something else had to be making that sound. Question was, what was it?

When the whistling got louder - became almost a scream - Chaltu finally saw the source.

"What in the- No!" He'd been complacent, thinking that this place would be safe while there was a _war_ going on all around them.

The rocket started to tip nose-downward, something he hadn't been expecting but didn't have a good feeling about, either. The Zoanoids (him included, of course) were frantically hurrying to get the kids onto the newly arrived Chronos transport trucks. Slamming the doors shut, Chaltu looked around for any of the kids who might have gotten left behind in the rush.

That, unfortunately for him, was when the missile split apart. A thick cloud of white phosphorus spread over the remaining Zoanoids, just before it was ignited by specially designed charges within the still mostly intact body of the missile. A wave of burning phosphor swept over and enveloped the Zoanoids: this, the Hellstorm Rocket, was the ACTF's new-generation weapon against furred-and-feathered Zoanoids. The five heavily furred Ramochis and seven Chaltu caught fire almost instantly.

The four remaining Gregole were choked and blinded by the heat and the flames, stumbling around as the fluid in their skin began to simmer and boil. Three more Hellstorm Rockets flew into the group of burning, screaming Zoanoids, splitting open with a nearly-inaudible "chuff" and bursting into roaring flames. The Gregoles, their lungs already seared from breathing superheated air, began at last to pass out from a lack of usable oxygen.

The Ramochis and Chaltu had long since been consumed by the fires.

XxXxX

"Drive!" Gregole shouted at the Vamore driving, his eyes locked on the rearview mirror.

The truck started moving without him having to say another word or any commentary from the Vamore next to him. Silently praising each and every one of the techs and engineers who'd worked their collective asses off to ensure the transports Chronos would be using during X-Day would be tough enough to handle various terrain and opposition, Gregole braced himself as Vamore drove straight on through the wall of flames obstructing the road in front of them.

"Turn!" he shouted.

"What?" Vamore demanded; he must have noticed the missiles then. "Shit!"

Gregole braced himself more firmly as the truck turned a sharp left, out of the path of the falling artillery that had once been in front of them. The sound of exploding asphalt and concrete played merry hell with his enhanced hearing, and Gregole suspected that they would both have one monster headache when they got back to Chronos.

"What the _fuck_?"

The urgency in Vamore's tone, only half-heard over the ringing in Gregole's ears, still managed to get his attention. So did the jet fighter hovering just a few feet in front of their truck. Too shocked to string two words together, Gregole could only watch numbly as the covers of the jets nose-guns snapped open.

A spray of high-velocity tungsten carbide shells was the last thing Vamore and Gregole ever saw.

The jet's bomb-bay doors opened; two smart missiles were launched. The missiles struck home just over the heads of Gregole and Vamore's dissolving corpses; they detonated seconds later. Nothing inside the Chronos transport survived.


	8. Warfare

It was a standoff, and a pretty pathetic standoff as far as Sharru was concerned, but the facts stood. The sub's captain had his gun out and was aiming it directly at the center of her face. She knew there wasn't much chance of his puny little popgun being able to punch through _her_ thick hide, but one good shot in the eye... Better not to take those kinds of chances when she could avoid it.

Jumping out of the Navy rat's line of fire, Sharru roundhouse kicked him in the head. The force she'd put behind her leg broke his neck instantly, tearing his head free from the neck that had once been supporting it. The head itself actually _bounced_ off the far wall of the sub's control room.

"Does anyone else have any objections they'd like to share?" she asked, grinning and displaying her sharp, serrated teeth. No one said a word. "Good. Now, I'm going to go open the dive-hatch and let some of my friends in. If any of you soft-skinned little shits tries to stop me, I'm going to make you envy that guy on the floor."

Sharru, as she made her way past the Navy rats who'd been stationed on the sub, found herself accosted by what was obviously one of the stupider members of the crew. Without even slowing her stride, she tore his throat out with her sharply pointed claws.

"Last warning, little rats."

Striding past the last of the ranks of Navy rats, she ignored the muttering that followed her; she'd been called worse today, and as long as they kept it to a dull roar, she wasn't going to bother herself with them. She could hear, reverberating through the hull, the sounds of her comrades scratching and banging in their impatience to get in. They weren't doing any actual damage to the sub itself - at least not at this point in time - but she knew that would change _very_ quickly if she didn't get to the hatch and let them all in.

They sounded like they were starting to get a bit agitated out there, probably going to start tearing into the hull soon. Of course, _that_ would have made the whole plan to get these little rats back to Chronos for processing go completely to shit, and then the boss-guys would be all pissy about it, so best to move fast. With that in mind, she hurried her stride on her way to the dive-hatch.

Wrenching the thing open, she smirked as she beheld the six Bystoma, three Eurenorm, and five Nalov standing inside the chamber.

"Welcome aboard, boys; glad to see you could make it," she said, folding her arms and leaning against the frame of the hatch with deliberately exaggerated casualness. "We've got a lot of work to do here. Let's get started rounding up the little rats, shall we?"

"We're right behind you, little girl. Just keep your wetsuit on," the leader, a Bystoma, said with a wave of his clawed right hand.

She chuckled, and the group of fifteen Zoanoids walked out of the dive-chamber and made their way back into the main area of the sub, Sharru herself in the lead. _This is going to be a cakewalk,_ she mused, not even bothering to hide her amusement and grinning all the way.

XxXxX

Dodging a stream of acid from the mouth of one of the five Enzyme IIs boxing his unit in, Captain Drake Shepherd was forced to duck as two of the four pincers on its back scissored the air, clamping down on the space where his head had been seconds ago. Once word had gotten out that there were Guyver-killers loose in the White House, sent after the President, every member of a unit not involved in vital rescue operations had been reassigned to assisting the evacuation efforts for the Commander in Chief. Naturally, that meant that they had to _get_ to him, first. All of these damned Guyver-killers loose in the halls were determined to make that particularly difficult; Drake was just glad that he hadnt run into any Type Threes - those things were _nasty_.

Panting a bit as he tried to regain his bearings and get the acrid scent of acid out of his nose, Drake rose back to his full height and blasted the lead Enzyme's head off with his Zoanoid Buster Mk II. The rotting corpse spilled its full load of acid and corrosive blood all over the floor, and Drake swore silently. The feet of those damned Guyver-killers were immune to their own secretions, so the only ones in danger from all of that new acid on the floor would be his own troops.

Still, treacherous footing was really the least of their worries with this group of Guyver-killers around, so Drake calmly took aim at another one.

The thing dodged, with what would have been surprising agility if Drake hadn't had as much experience with the things as he had been getting today. The sound of another member of his unit screaming drew his attention before he could reorient himself. Trevor Paige, an Army Staff Sergeant who had been cleared for ACTF training a week ago, had just forgotten one of the basic rules of engagement for them: Never Let a Zoanoid Within Arms Reach.

The rule went double for Hypers, Zoalords, and Guyver-killers, of course.

The Enzyme II had already stabbed Paige with one of its huge pincers, and the genetic mutant was biting into the Sergeant's left shoulder even as they watched. Signaling for his remaining Hunters to reload, since there was nothing anyone could do for Paige at this point but make Chronos and their freakish forces pay for his sacrifice, Drake sighted on the Enzyme. When the Zoanoid bit the arm it was gnawing on off entirely, it spat a stream of high-pressure acid at Sergeant Paige's face as if to finish the job.

All of the others had a bead on the Guyver-killers by now, and as Trevor Paige's headless corpse fell to the floor, the Guyver-killers finally seemed to realize this.

"Open fire!" Drake ordered, just as they started massing for a charge.

The barrage of high-speed, explosive shells blew them into bloody chunks before they could start moving.

"Lieutenant Archer, deal with this," he said.

"Right, sir," Archer said, snapping off a salute before he unslung the sprayer holstered at his side.

The entire contraption reminded Drake more than a little of the Super Soakers he had played with as a child. And, as Lieutenant Franklin Archer took aim at the still-volatile puddles of acid blood on the floor, Drake heard the slight hissing that indicated Archer had activated the compressor on his reserve-tank. He smiled slightly; he'd have given a lot to have had one of those on his Soaker, back in the day.

The mix of chemicals in Archer's tank, and in every one like it, neutralized the acid puddles still bubbling on the floor, making it safe to walk on for all of the other ACTF soldiers who would come through after them.

"All right, people, we've still got a lot of ground to cover, so lets move out!" Captain Drake Shepherd commanded, signaling to the rest of his Hunter squad.

XxXxX

Bartlett was just starting to wonder when he was going to get the chance to eat when one of the ACTFs so-called Hunters, a woman by the name of Tammy Allison if he recalled correctly, handed him a ration bar.

"Here," she said. "If there's one thing you can say for these emergency rations, it's that you can eat them on the go."

"Yeah, you can at least say that," he said, matching the woman's wry smile with one of his own; he'd already been thoroughly informed about the need for all of them to keep moving, and he'd had the reason for that demonstrated on several occasions by now.

The ration bar tasted like salty cardboard, and it had the texture and consistency of leather, but all of that was secondary to the fact that it filled him up. That was really all that mattered at this point: for him to be full enough to get some answers to the questions that had begun to nag at him.

"How long will it be until weve managed to fully evacuate, Lieutenant Marsters?" he asked.

"Begging your pardon, Mr. President, but that's not something I'd like to discus in such an exposed area like this," the woman said. "Too much chance of being overheard by hostiles. Those Zoanoids weve been facing here aren't just big, strong, and ugly; they also have enhanced senses on top of that. Makes them a real bitch to deal with."

"I'd imagine they would be," he said, nodding as he crumpled the wrapper from the ration bar in his left hand, then stuck it in his pocket. "I just hope we can get _out_ of this deathtrap soon. Invasion by hostile Zoanoids wasnt something we'd ever planned for."

"All due respect, Mr. President, that's why we came. The soldiers of the ACTF have been training for this ever since we first became aware of the threat Chronos posed to the world at large. Just stand back and trust us to do our jobs, sir. We'll have you out of this warzone as soon as we can."

"Thank you, Lieutenant," he said, feeling a surge of gratitude to her and her squad. "I just hope we can all get out of this place alive."

"You and me both, sir," Lieutenant Marsters said, her focus clearly taken up with the battle again.


	9. Helplessness

The high, piercing shriek of one of the attacking Enzyme IIIs alerted Drake to its position, and he fired. The Guyver-killer kicked its long, muscular legs and hurled itself across the hallway out of the path of the exploding shell. Cursing and reloading even as the explosion blew a small hole in the wall, Drake tried to sight and fire again. The scream of another Enzyme III, and the swiftly silenced scream of one of his fellow Hunters, caused him to orient to his right while he dodged another claw-swipe aimed at his head.

"Henderson!"

The twitching corpse of Larry Henderson, impaled on the large spike at the end of the Enzyme III's long tail, slumped slowly to the floor as the spike was ripped from his chest in a spray of blood and gore. A pair of gargling screams drew his attention away from the carnage in front of him, and Drake turned just too late to do anything but watch as Tanya Harding and Tom Berenson were fatally mauled by a pair of Enzyme IIIs. Another bellowing shriek, this one from almost directly behind him, let Drake know there was another threat.

Turning to confront it, wanting at least to _see_ the thing that was hunting him, Drake confronted the creature: another Enzyme III.

The lithe, tall, broad-shouldered Guyver-killer swiped at him with its sharp claws. Either it had forgotten that its claws actually needed to _penetrate_ to trigger the acid sacs, or the monster was getting tired after the battle it had just fought against what remained of his Hunters, but Drake's second layer of body-armor remained intact. Falling to the floor in an imitation of the mortally injured, Drake made sure he landed on one of the patches of floor clear of acid.

Lying there, he went as limp as he could while still breathing deeply enough not to pass out.

The screams of the rest of his Hunter Unit as they were mauled to death by those acid-blooded monsters filled Drakes ears as he forced himself to lie there. It was like some kind of esoteric torture: those were _his_ people dying out there, but the only thing he could do for them was survive to report the outcome of this mission.

When the blood of one of his fellow Hunters - Drake wasn't quite sure whose since he had his eyes closed - splattered against his face, he took as deep of a breath as he safely could. Any large, obvious movements would get him killed here; he was _playing_ dead so he wouldnt end up _being_ dead, and all he could do was to wait. Wait, while the remainder of his Hunter Unit was slaughtered around him; wait, while he was forced to listen to the sounds of ripping flesh, shattering bone, and the screams of dying soldiers and hunting Zoanoids; wait, while the thick, cloying, coppery stench of blood and the stinging tang of fresh and stale acid filled his nose. He had no desire to die with the other members of his Unit, and more than that he had a mission; controlling his breathing with iron discipline, Drake Shepherd, sole survivor of his Hunter Unit, continued to lie very, expertly still.

When the hallway around him fell silent, except for the sounds of hunting Zoanoids, Drake willed himself to go limp again after having tensed up briefly. There was no way of knowing whether or not those Zoanoids suspected he was still alive, but _he_ certainly wasn't going to be giving them any hints. For just a moment, as one of the Enzyme IIIs began to nuzzle against him like some grotesque parody of his family's old tabby cat, Drake found his resolve sorely tested; he willed himself to stay limp as any of the corpses scattered around him. If _this_ was what he had to do to keep breathing today, it was what he was going to do; he owed it to his people to carry this mission through.

When the Guyver-killer was satisfied he was dead, or at least under the impression he was, the vicious, acid-blooded mutant dashed off in another direction. Drake took a moment to hope that the thing would end up getting itself killed in another encounter with the ACTF. Breathing slowly and deeply for what felt like the first time in days, Drake rose slowly back to his feet, trying to ignore the mutilated, half-dissolved corpses of the rest of his Hunter Unit.

Even when he was forced to walk over the top of Larry Henderson's mostly-intact corpse to avoid a large puddle of standing acid, Drake forced the thought of what he was actually _standing_ on out of his mind. He just kept moving forward, one foot in front of the other, mindless action to take him away from the spent battlefield and all its horrors. The blood on his face had started to dry, caking and making him itch.

He welcomed the physical sensation; it helped distract him from the mingled scents, none of them particularly pleasant. Slinging his Zoanoid Buster Mk II over his back, since he didn't need it for the moment but knew that there would come a time when he would, he kept moving. He could hear the faint sound of marching feet, accompanied by the sound of voices.

He radio had been lost in the chaos, so there was no real way for him to know what he was walking into. The people he was hearing might be part of another Hunter Unit, or they might be one of the many groups of Zoanoids that had been dispatched to secure the White House; he wasn't going to speculate. He was prepared for them, either way: if they were another Hunter Unit, he would fall in with them and make his report to their team leader; if they were simply more Zoanoids, he would fight for as long as his ammo held out. He was comfortably numb, indifferent to either outcome.

When he finally came within sight of the people he'd been tailing, Drake found that they were indeed another Hunter Unit. He probably would have been glad to see them, if he hadn't been pushing all of his emotions aside so he could function. His eyes swept over the Unit, quickly locating their team leader.

He saluted crisply. "Captain Drake Shepherd, reporting for duty, sir."


	10. Determination

The last of the guards defending the outside of Buckingham Palace had fallen before the loyal phalanx of Zoanoids that had attached themselves to him when he had declared his intention. The humans' armies in this Section of his had already been either converted or disposed of, so Edward Caerleon had decided he would make a personal demonstration before the remaining humans.

To that end, he had left his post at what had once been known as the Royal College of Life Sciences to conquer this last scrap of territory himself. He and his Zoanoids were now passing into the outer hallways of the Palace, and Edward was just beginning to wonder where the remainder of the unprocessed guards were. It was possible that they had all died in the initial attack, but he would have been rather disappointed in them if that were so.

He had been given at least _some_ cause to respect the ingenuity of humans in the time that he had worked with them. Surely these would not simply allow him to take this place for his own use without putting up more of a fight than this. When he started to hear the heavy tread of soldiers, knowing in an instant that they were not more of his loyal Zoanoids, he turned quickly to confront the new players in this little game. They seemed to be an eclectic mix of palace guards and the remainder of the unprocessed SAS.

Since he was not particularly interested in a drawn-out battle, merely curious as to where the humans tasked with guarding this place had been, Edward raised his right hand and incinerated them without a second thought. Turning his attention back to the palace corridor, Edward willed the flames to go out before he left. It would not do, after all, to have the place he intended to rule from being destroyed by his own lack of attention to detail.

Walking on, Edward ordered his Zoanoids to spread out and search the remainder of the palace for any surviving staff and to deal with them if they were found; he had other things on _his_ mind.

XxXxX

Meanwhile, half a world away, in a formerly quiet suburban district of Tokyo, the third great battle in the war against Chronos was being fought.

Sho Fukamachi, in full Guyver armor, rolled out of the way of another swipe of the attacking Enzyme IIIs lethal claws, just in time to watch as someone else killed the Guyver-killer with a Pressure Cannon blast to the head.

_+Ryan?+_

_+The one and only.+_

_+Thank you.+_

_+Not a problem.+_

There were five more Enzyme IIIs, though, and that was on top of the ten Enzyme IIs and the virtual army of normal Zoanoids that had been sent out to attack them. Agito had brought along some soldiers who had seemed to be working for him, and Sho was relieved to see that they were still holding their own against the attacking Zoanoids. Mr. Hayami and Mr. Jackson had already changed, and they were both ripping their way through the mass of Zoanoids in front of them.

He hoped they would both be all right.

Sho's hyper-sensors alerted him to the approach of something big, but he turned a little too late to do anything but get caught and pinned against a crumbled wall by one of the attacking Enzyme IIs. He started to charge the Pressure Cannon.

"Been a long time since we last ran into each other."

"Aptom?"

"Miss me, did you? Don't worry, I'm not going to let any of these puny little appetizers take _your_ life. That's a pleasure I've reserved for myself."

"Oh," Sho said. It was sad, he thought, how Aptom didn't seem to want to let go of his anger, as if he thought it defined him somehow.

"Looks like you're going to get to live for at least one more day, what with all the time it's going to take me to deal with _these_ little morsels," Aptom said, sounding cheerful.

He dashed off, morphing in mid-step into some lithe, long-tailed, lizardlike Zoanoid. Sho turned away from Aptom's retreating form just as another Enzyme II - a real one this time - came charging at him. Moving quickly out of the way of a sudden spray of acid from the Guyver-killer's mouth, he was forced to duck as the Zoanoid stabbed forward with all four of its pincers. Panting, Sho charged up and fired the Pressure Cannon.

Not stopping to watch as the Enzyme II's head exploded, he turned and sliced a Ramochis in half before it could either grab him or try to slash him. Seeing another one of the Enzyme IIIs getting its head blown off by a Guyver's Pressure Cannon, Sho turned to see who it was: Ryan was in the air, fighting yet another of the Enzyme IIIs. Knowing that Ryan would be all right, or else would call for help, Sho turned back to his own battles.

A pair of Guyver-killers, one Enzyme II and one Enzyme III, had rushed him just as his attention returned. He heard the dying scream of an Enzyme and breathed a soft sigh of relief; Ryan was handling things on his end, then. Charging up his own Pressure Cannon, Sho feinted an attack on the Enzyme III. When the Enzyme II tried to protect its more vicious but less intelligent counterpart, Sho slammed his fully charged Pressure Cannon into the other Guyver-killer's head.

That left him with only the one Enzyme III, the last one he'd seen during this battle.

XxXxX

With his Thunderbolts on hand to deal with the weaker Zoanoids, Agito Makashima was himself free to deal with the Hyper Zoanoids Chronos had sent out to secure this area. He had not been expecting X-Day to occur so soon, before his own forces could be fully trained to his exacting standards. Still, there _had_ been those among his Thunderbolt forces that had demonstrated the necessary loyalty and intelligence for him to feel comfortable having them at his back.

Crouger and Fukamachi seemed to have dealt with all of the Guyver-killers by the time he had killed the last of the Hyper Zoanoids, so that was one less annoyance for the Dark Guyver to have to deal with himself.

XxXxX

Ryan spun, kicking a Granza hard enough that he cracked its armored shell. The gray Guyver then finished the job with a crushing double-axe-handle that shattered the Zoanoid's skull completely.

_+Guys!+_

_+Sean?+_

_+What is it, Guyver IV?+_ Agito asked, managing to sound only mildly concerned.

+Big trouble; downtown L.A. We're being overrun here. I really need some help. The ACTF's defensive lines are holding for now, but I'm not sure how long we can manage without at least one other Guyver to reinforce our position.+

_+I'll be right there,+_ Ryan said, before either of the two Guyvers could formulate an answer.

_+And how do you propose to get there, Crouger? I am certain that Barker did not intend to ask for assistance that would only arrive eight hours after the battle had ended.+_

_+With the Giga Unit, I can be there in just a few minutes.+_

_+From our perspective, perhaps, but you have told me yourself how badly that particular Unit-enhancer drains your energy.+_

_+Why, Agito Makashima, I had no idea you cared so much about little ole' me,+_ Ryan needled, his mental voice syrupy-sweet.

+Hardly. I simply fail to see how you would be of any aid to Barker half-ready to collapse from exhaustion.+

_+Don't get your panties in a twist,+ _he said, just to piss Agito off. _+I'll find my own way. I always do.+_

_+Are you really sure that you want to do something so dangerous, Ryan?+_

_+That's my home we're talking about here, Sho. _I _may not live in California, but there _are _people over there that I care about.+_

_+I thought your family lived in Colorado,+_ Sho said, sounding confused.

+Some of my family moved over there about a year ago—aunts and uncles, mostly, but some of my cousins went, too.+

_+You have family over there?+_

+Yeah. They said they couldn't take the winters over there anymore. Me, I like the snow; we still come over and visit them on the holidays, though. California's a little too hot for my taste, but if there's anything I can do to help them, then I have to try.+

"Giga Guyver!"

Once the enhanced Unit had fully fused with Ryan's normal Guyver, he shifted into Hypertime without another word to either of his two fellow Guyvers. Not that they would have heard him if he _had_ spoken, what with the time difference and all. Heck, he couldn't even talk to _Sean_ like this; the near-total isolation always felt kind of weird. With a thought, Ryan activated his Gravity Controller, rising into the still air above the frozen forms of Guyvers and Zoanoids alike, both sides locked in battle.

_)Hey, Snake-head, you mind taking the first shift?(_

_)You want to have some space to worry, kid?(_

_)More like I want to plan my bloody revenge on Chronos for trying to attack _more _of my family. But yeah, I _would _also like some space to think.(_

_)Not a problem, kid. Just remember that I won't be able to use any of the weapons while I'm out.(_

_)I'll keep that in mind. And thanks.(_

_)Yeah; get some rest, kid.(_

Ryan, as he retreated to the back of his own mind, got the impression of a nod from his "inner Zoanoid".

As he flew through the still air, heading for the battleground in L.A., Elegen spotted three Vikarr frozen in mid-flight. He was just about to ask Ryan if he wanted to use any of the Guyver's weapons on them when he noticed the kid had fallen asleep. Elegen figured that was for the best; it was what _he_ would have done before a major offensive like this - or at least he would have if he'd ever been given the option _to_ do something like that.


	11. Hunting

As he carved his way through another knot of toy soldiers, Chaltu noticed that the group of Arravex had broken down the door of their little hidey-hole. Grinning with fierce pleasure, Chaltu ran – full out, on all fours – toward the wide-open space where the door had once been. Two of the Arravex were standing in the opening; Chaltu didn't know why they were still there. Maybe they were standing guard or something, but he wasn't going to waste time thinking about it.

He charged. His long legs and arms made short work of the distance between him and the base's interior, and soon he stood within it. Not slowing his charge until he was a fair distance down the hall, just in case those two Arravex finally decided to do something, Chaltu looked over his shoulder at them.

Maybe there really _were_ people guarding the place.

Tilting his head back, Chaltu sniffed the air in search of any of the Army ants that hadn't come out to get butchered like their little compatriots. Hearing, and then smelling, the approach of another group of humans, Chaltu chuckled in mordant good humor. It seemed there _were_ more of them, after all.

"Heya, gents," Chaltu said, grinning as the Army ants came around the corner and giving them a real good look at the long, sharp teeth that filled his mouth.

The fact that the little ants chose _not_ to run away screaming in terror, especially after what they must have seen on this day of days, meant they were all either very brave, or very stupid. Chaltu was personally inclined to go with stupid: only idiots would try to take on Zoanoids. The ants raised their cute little popguns and opened fire, but he'd seen their movements while they were getting ready, and he'd already leapt to the other side of the hallway over their heads while they were still bringing their guns up.

He could hear them firing behind him, where he'd been standing about five seconds ago—the Arravex were going to be pissed when those shells hit them. Not like it would hurt them at all, they'd just be annoyed; hell, he would've felt just the same if something like that happened to _him_.

Clamping his teeth down on the calf of the of the toy soldier nearest to him, Chaltu was rewarded with the with the man's loud screaming as the two of them fell to the ground almost on top of each other. As he gave the toy soldier a good, fatal mauling, he heard the roars of the Arravex as they charged in to deal with the rest. The bastards screamed a fair bit as the Arravex shredded them like cheap cloth, but the sounds were slowly diminishing behind him as Chaltu made his way still deeper into the base.

Tuning out the hot, coppery scent of spilled blood and other fluids behind him, as well as the taste of it still lingering in his mouth, Chaltu tilted his head back and started hunting for more toy soldiers. Twisting and swiveling his large, pointed ears, he searched for the heavy tread of booted feet and the distinctive "click" of guns being readied for combat, both sure signs that more of those toy soldiers were coming.

If they weren't already dead, they'd definitely be on their way; they were predictable like that.

XxXxX

As another of the Zoanoids came barreling flat-out at him, Drake dropped to one knee and fired his ZB2 into its soft, exposed underbelly. These Arravex he'd been briefed on might have been built like the results of a torrid affair between an Ankylosaurus and a Rhino, but the scales on their stomachs were still softer than those on their backs and sides; one shot there would kill them just as dead as anything else. One shot was just what Drake gave them.

The loss of one of their own seemed to go completely unnoticed by the four remaining Arravex, something that Drake took as further evidence of their inhumanity. After all, anyone _human_, even a soldier in the midst of a fight for their lives, would have at least taken the time to _notice_ the death of one of their own even if they could only spare a second. But then, Zoanoids _were_ just a bunch of dumb, heartless animals anyway. It was one of the things that made them so very easy to kill.

Throwing himself to the floor just as one of the Arravex dove at him, Drake rolled out of the way as another one made a flying-tackle on the spot he'd just occupied. Over his head and behind his back, Drake could hear his fellow soldiers preparing and then firing yet another volley into the enemy. Crawling on his belly toward the neat lines of his unit, Drake smiled grimly as they fired over him.

After all of the Zoanoids were dead and dissolving like they always did, Drake grabbed the hand offered to him and let First Lieutenant Marsters pull him back to his feet.

"We don't have much time left here, people," Lieutenant Colonel Robert Cross said tersely, shouldering his ZB2 as he looked all of them over. "Chronos will be sending in massive reinforcements soon. We have to get to our extraction point quickly, before these bastards manage to cut us off by sheer force of numbers."

"Yes, sir!" the remainder of unit answered, saluting sharply.

As they all started to fall out again, he kept a sharp eye out for any other Zoanoids. There were still bound to be some, and he wasn't about to see _more_ of his fellow soldiers killed by those freaks of genetic engineering. He'd already seen more than his share of friendlies' deaths today.

XxXxX

The last of the Zoanoid attack-force had been dealt with, but none of the ACTF's soldiers were stupid enough to think that their last problem would be handled so easily. Said problem – one Imakarum Mirabilis – was currently engaging Ryan Crouger in the sky above them. Or sometimes even on the ground, if one or the other was knocked out of the sky by his opponent.

Sean had _tried_ to help his fellow Guyver, but after Imakarum had battered him out of the sky for the fifth time, ripping his right arm off in the process, Ryan had told him point-blank that he could do a better job fighting the Zoalord if he wasn't worrying about saving Sean's ass. That was why Sean was down on the ground helping with the evacuation of the remaining personnel. He would often look up to see how Ryan was doing, but for the most part he focused on what he was doing; Imakarum had brought Zoanoids with him, and while he'd been told that that was pretty much what Zoalords _did_, those Zoanoids in particular were troublesome.

They were Enzymes—six Type IIIs and ten IIs—so Sean had to worry a lot more about keeping his skin intact than how Ryan was doing at the moment.

XxXxX

Imakarum, long past annoyance with this particular enemy and swiftly becoming furious, fired another two volleys of Gravity Bullets at the gray Guyver. The Guyver, for his part, dodged and wove between the blasts with a fluid grace more suggestive of a dance rather than the deadly battle that they were engaged in. It was annoying in the extreme, but even moreso was the young Guyver's reaction.

"Nice shot, dead eye!" the Guyver taunted. "Why don't you try firing with your eyes _open_ next time?"

Hissing between his teeth in sheer fury, Imakarum fired a fully powered Spiral Crusher at the irritating Guyver. Through the distortion in the air caused by his attack, however, Imakarum could see the Guyver-boy pulling his arms in close to his body and holding his legs close together as he reoriented himself to hang horizontally in the air. The powerful energies of Imakarum's Spiral Crusher barely scratched the surface of the Fifth Guyver's armor, but that was not the worst of Imakarum's troubles with the boy.

No, the worst came when all ten of the dull, grayish-blue orbs sunken into the joints of the Fifth Guyver's strange, wraithlike armor flashed bright blue, and the boy vanished from even Imakarum's senses. He had seen recordings—what few there were—of the boy in combat with this strange armor enhancement, but he had not yet had the dubious pleasure of encountering this particular power for himself. His senses were completely unable to detect the Fifth Guyver now, so Imakarum knew that it was not simple invisibility giving the boy such a distinct advantage.

Still, that left the question of what the Guyver-boy _had_ done completely unanswered. Imakarum was not entirely fond of unanswered questions, particularly as they pertained to his enemies.

His senses were stretched as far as he could safely manage, and yet he could not catch so much as a flicker of movement from his enemy. In such an environment as this, even invisibility would give signs of its use, but every movement of the surrounding air that he sensed was as random as any other and of no use to him in tracking the movements of the Fifth Guyver.

Raising his barrier, Imakarum found himself staggered by a powerful blow to the back of his skull. Losing the concentration needed to maintain his forcefield-barrier and barely holding onto that necessary to remain in the air, Imakarum was woefully unprepared for the blow that struck him directly in the center of his back. Driven into the tarmac by both the force of the blow and his own loss of the concentration – minor as it was in the end – needed to fly, Imakarum forced himself back to his feet.

Drained of almost all of his stamina from the prolonged battle and the pain of his wounds, knowing that he would be unnecessarily straining his Zoacrystal if he attempted to recover from such damage in his battleform, Imakarum let himself revert back to his human form. There was a greater than average chance that the Fifth Guyver would mistake his action for a sign of weakness, so that was another advantage to the Zoalord's unintended ruse.

When his enhanced senses were once again able to discern the Fifth Guyver's presence, Imakarum had to resist the urge to smirk in fierce triumph: apparently the young Guyver was not as shrewd as he liked to think, if he was willing to give up such a decisive advantage in battle so easily.


	12. Concern

Ryan felt like he was maybe about three seconds away from falling flat on his face, and that if he was lucky. He knew that wearing the Giga Unit kept him from feeling the effects of the energy-drain, but he was also fully aware that the longer he wore it, the worse the effects would get. Best not to push too hard.

_+Sorry, Sean, I'm out.+_

_+What do you mean, you're out? Is something wrong, Ryan? You don't sound so good.+_

_+I think I used just a _little _too much energy tangling with everyone's favorite psycho. I'm going to have to get to one of the transports or risk falling asleep in my Guyver.+_

_+That wouldn't be good,+_ Sean said, though he seemed to be talking to himself rather than Ryan. _+Good luck out there.+_

_+Thanks.+_

Making for the transports, Ryan felt Elegen lending him as much extra strength as the Hyper Zoanoid safely could with a Zoalord still in the area. When he'd managed to make it to where one of the larger transports had paused for a moment in preparation for taking on more evacuees, Ryan's slowly decreasing lucidity serving to make him supremely unconcerned with anything but the fact that fact that it was big, armed, and friendly. Shedding his Guyver armor just as his feet had settled on the ground, Ryan saw said ground reaching up as if to hit him.

It didn't hurt nearly as much as he'd thought it would.

XxXxX

Atkins, having just received word that Ryan Crouger had made it safely to the main transport convoy evacuating personnel from this base, after going head-to-head with the Zoalord Imakarum Mirabilis, breathed a short sigh of relief. At least Ryan would be able to recover his depleted energy while he was as safe as anyone could be during this nightmare. Still, that left Imakarum as a viable problem.

And that bastard Zoalord was extremely tough, a real persistent son of a bitch.

Atkins, while he continued to direct the evacuation of the soldiers and civilian personnel who had been stationed at the base, as well as the people who had already been evac'd from the city, saw _something_ dart up into the sky. A few seconds later, two of the ammo-storage buildings exploded in quick succession. Luckily for them, those particular buildings had been emptied out sometime earlier, back when the first reports of attacking Zoanoids had come in.

All of the unused weapons and ammo had already been moved out to their fallback position, and while he hoped that there wouldn't be a need for them to completely abandon this base, the way the battle was going – with a Zoalord in the mix and one Guyver already out of commission – Atkins didn't like their chances of holding it. A base could be retaken, but the lives lost in its defense wouldn't be so easily recovered. He gave the signal to begin evacuating in earnest, something that would have sounded like an incomprehensible series of beeps, clicks, and hissing static to any Chronos agents that managed to somehow intercept it.

A few seconds later, Atkins gave another set of orders, ones he'd hoped never to have to give, but under the circumstances he knew he didn't have much of a choice.

One of Aptom's many clones, striding with all the calm that they never seemed to lose, came over to him then.

"What're _you_ doing here?" he asked, surprised to see the Lost Unit so close at hand under the circumstances. "I thought you and yours would be gorging yourselves sick out there. You've told me that you feed on Zoanoids, so this should be pretty much one giant feeding-frenzy for you, shouldn't it?"

"Me and the others figured you could use some extra protection." Aptom grinned, giving him a hearty slap on the back. "Besides, nothing draws Zoanoids faster than live bait."

"Should have suspected you'd have ulterior motives," he grumbled with a good-natured smile to show he didn't mean anything by it; Aptom might have his quirks, but the Zoanoid-eater was as good an asset as any of the Guyvers.

Aptom laughed as the two of them made their way over to a fairly large convoy of Stryker AFVs. Ten of the rugged transports were within his field of vision; counting the ones he couldn't see clearly behind the others, there were twenty-five in all.

"You've all received your orders?" he confirmed, as any good soldier would.

"Yes, sir!" he heard, repeated once for each driver in the convoy.

"I want all of you to know that I hoped it would never come to this," he said, needing his people to know that, no matter the circumstances, he wouldn't spend their lives carelessly. "If there was any other option-"

"We know, sir," Sergeant Sean Masterson gently cut him off. "We all know that you wouldn't have given the order if there'd been any other workable option. That's why we're going to carry them out, sir. Every one of us."

"Fuckin' A, Sergeant!" the nearby soldiers shouted.

"God be with all of you," Atkins said, feeling touched by both their loyalty and their determination. "Move out!"

Saluting even as he returned the gesture, his ACTF troops quickly turned and boarded the waiting Strykers. Leaving just as they started their engines, he winced slightly as he heard the roar of twenty-five powerful motors; he knew what was coming. Looking over at Aptom as he felt a hand on his right shoulder, Atkins saw a look of sympathy on the Zoanoid-hunter's face.

He'd been able to gather some Intel on Aptom's past, some of it even given by Aptom himself, so he knew why the other man would feel that way; he was still grateful for the sentiment, however.


	13. Aptom

Looking over his shoulder as he sensed one of the others approaching, Aptom waited for him to come into his field of view; he'd known that the other was one of his own as soon as he'd come into the room, but now that he was actually in his field of view, Aptom could see that this one was the one who'd gone out to look for Atkins. Obviously, he'd found what he was after.

"Nice seeing me again," he said, smirking slightly as the other came over to stand beside him. "You manage to find something to eat out there?"

"No." The other jerked his thumb back at Atkins. "Even _with_ one of Chronos' most wanted hanging around, I didn't manage to get a bite."

Atkins gave the both of them an annoyed look even as he turned and made his way deeper into the barracks; both of them shared chuckles. There was one whole hell of a lot of evacuated soldiers and civilians in here, so many that Aptom didn't even bother to try counting them all. It would have taken too much time, and been completely boring besides.

Still, he had to admit that this plan of theirs _was_ probably crazy enough to work; Chronos'd never expect anything like it, that was for damn sure. Watching for a minute as the soldiers helped to organize the civilians into neat groups, Aptom turned back to the others gathered in the barracks with him. Not feeling any particular need to waste time with words, Aptom communicated his plans over the mental link that he and the others all shared.

The others turned and walked out of the barracks while Aptom himself joined up with the tail-end of the last group of evacuees; he wasn't stupid enough to think that there were going to be any more, not with what was going on out there. Or, to put it more bluntly, who was _out_ there.

XxXxX

The remains of the humans who had foolishly tried to oppose him lay scattered on the ground, along with the still-smoldering wreckage of their vehicles. Imakarum was just about to begin hunting down the rest of the human soldiers that he knew had to be present, since in the absence of an order to do so the Fourth Guyver would not have withdrawn from their battle so quickly, especially given the boy's attitude while they had fought. He _did _find it rather odd that the Fifth Guyver had not yet returned to the battlefield, though perhaps it was simply a matter of the younger boy having received the same orders as his counterpart.

The roar of powerful engines drew Imakarum's attention to a large convoy of Strykers, so the Twelfth Zoalord decided to change his plans slightly: first he would deal with the soldiers in the Strykers – from what he was hearing, Imakarum estimated that there were at least twenty of the large vehicles – and _then_ he would track down and eliminate the rest of the humans cowering in one of the buildings here. Levitating high into the air, Imakarum pinpointed the convoy of Strykers; taking note of the fact that there were twenty-_five_ of them rather than the twenty he had initially estimated, he flew to meet them.

Even at only half his top flight speed, it took him two seconds to reach the group of Strykers that had started out a great distance from him. After he had destroyed two of them, the rest of the group predictably scattered like frightened rabbits. Just as he was about to begin dealing with them, Imakarum felt a blast of intense heat coming from behind him.

Dodging, he turned slightly to see what had nearly hit him; it turned out to be a bio-laser discharge. Mentally calculating its trajectory based on where it had been aimed, Imakarum turned to confront his new opponent. As it turned out, he now faced one of the most highly rated threats on Chronos' list, though not the one that he had been expecting to deal with.

The Lost Number Aptom, along with four of those damnable clones of his, flew towards him with wings he had clearly appropriated from a Galma-type Zoanoid. Quickly firing off an Incision Wave, Imakarum growled slightly in frustration as the group of Lost Numbers scattered out of the way of his attack. It was annoying, but he had learned to expect such things over the time he had spent dealing with that particular annoyance.

XxXxX

Aptom, shepherding the last group of refugees, ran into the hidden escape tunnel deep beneath the barracks. The last of the soldier-boys closed the large doors behind them as they all jogged down into the tunnel. Aptom could hear a deep, reverberating series of "thunks" as they were locked down.

When the civilians started to mingle with all of the other people, Aptom went in search of Atkins. Wincing as he felt one of the others getting disintegrated by that damned Zoalord, Aptom kept moving. He knew that he didn't have the surplus biomass to replicate himself, and he would need all his energy to get through the tunnels with no food the way he was going to have to do. Aside from all of _that_, though, the escape-hatch was already sealed and locked down.

_That_ meant that the explosive charges were primed and ready to blow once Atkins gave the signal. Speaking of that guy... turning on his heel, Aptom made his way through a group of hurrying civilians being herded by yet another of the soldier-boys. A fair number of the civvies gave him weird looks because of the huge scar on the right side of his face, and as he smirked back at them, Aptom idly wondered what they would think if he took off his sunglasses. He was willing to bet at least a few meals that none of them had ever seen a guy with blood-red eyes before.

As he made it to the front of the group, Aptom caught sight of Atkins at last. The leader of this little party was talking to another one of his soldier-boys, explaining something or other. Aptom, never really having been one to be patient when he didn't really have to – particularly not when he had something important to report—cut in quickly.

"There are only four of the others left," he said, then winced slightly. "Make that three."

"How are my troops doing, or have you managed to catch sight of them yet?"

"There are only seventeen of _them_ left," he said, shifting his weight slightly; he refused to feel guilty about that. Those guys on the ground weren't _his_ people, and he wasn't the one who'd sent them out. "They can't move in three dimensions like I can, so he's been picking them off pretty much at his leisure. Looks to me like he's playing with them," he concluded.

"Damn him straight to hell," Atkins said, sounding wearier than Aptom had ever heard him. "Look, you just try to have at least _one_ of your clones survive long enough to spot when that sonofabitch gets it into his head to attack the main barracks, all right? _That's_ what I want you to concentrate on."

"I'll pass the word along," he said, still a bit shaken from feeling two of the others – those who had been connected to him mind-to-mind – being destroyed so simply. Sure, he knew Zoalords were bad news, and it wasn't like that was _all_ of him out there, but he still didn't like it.

"How's Ryan doing?"

Just about to demand how the hell _he_ should be expected to know when he hadn't even _seen_ the kid since Japan, Aptom realized that Atkins hadn't actually been talking to him.

"He's still conked out on the stretcher," the soldier that Atkins had been talking to, some guy with black hair and dark blue eyes, reported. "We've been taking turns carrying him, and I just hooked him up to an IV, so he probably won't be as ravenous as he usually is when he wakes up after using that thing. Especially since he knocked himself out doing it."

"That's good," Atkins said with a sharp nod. "At least we'll be able to conserve _some _of our food supplies." He chuckled briefly, then became serious again. "Keep the civilians moving; we've got a lot of ground to cover before we reach the Alpha Site."

"Yes, sir." The soldier-boy saluted sharply before turning and blending into the large crowd making its way through the tunnel.

Having already passed Atkins' message along to the three others that remained in the air, Aptom sighed as he felt another one get himself de-atomized. That was really starting to piss him off, doubly so since there was nothing he could actually _do_ about it. Best not to think about it, he decided.


	14. Underground

The remaining replications of that annoyance Aptom seemed to be making a concerted effort to stay away from him, so Imakarum decided that he would amuse himself by destroying the seven Strykers before he returned to deal with the Lost Number and his remaining replications. Turning away from the remaining clones and their progenitor, Imakarum scanned the surrounding tarmac for the Strykers.

Once he had located two of the group, the humans having split up because they were obviously not _entirely_ stupid, Imakarum pursued them and obliterated them with a pair of Incision Waves.

With a mere five human opponents remaining, and Aptom and his vile replications not making any moves to stop him for whatever inexplicable reasons they had, Imakarum found that the humans had scattered even further. However, since they were still limited by their comparatively slow and clumsy vehicles, Imakarum knew that he would have only a slightly more interesting time tracking them down than when they had been comparatively bunched together.

Still, this was bound to be at least _slightly_ more entertaining than dealing with the somewhat larger groups that he had been faced with before.

Scanning his surroundings once more, Imakarum located three of the five remaining Strykers; they were some distance to his left, and while they _were_ beginning to break up into individual units, they were still close enough together for his purposes. Flying into the rough center of their formation, Imakarum picked his first target. Reducing the paltry vehicle to flying shrapnel with a barrage of Gravity Bullets, he split the second one in two with an Incision Wave, then tore the third into uncountable shards with a simple Spiral Crusher.

Searching for the remaining two Strykers took him slightly longer than the destruction of the previous three, mostly because the humans in these particular vehicles had at least been intelligent enough to separate more widely. Once he had finished with that minor task, Imakarum was left with Aptom and his single remaining clone. Dealing with them would likely prove more troublesome than dealing with the humans, but after all he had done, Imakarum was more than ready to have this little excursion over with.

He had more important things to attend to than the destruction of mere humans, as satisfying as such a thing could be.

Sensing the Lost Number and his plural in the air over the far end of the remains of the military base – directly opposite where he had hunted down the last of the humans in the Strykers – Imakarum flew over the ruins with nearly his top speed. The Lost Number and his plural tried to strike him with blasts from their forearm-mounted bio-lasers; while Imakarum was swift to dodge, the blasts themselves were annoying all the same.

Raising his barrier and wishing for a fleeting moment that he possessed Li Yentsui's ability to redirect attacks at the one who had launched them, Imakarum opted to simply wait them out. No Zoanoid, not even an abomination such as Aptom, possessed infinite energy-reserves; his barrier was all Imakarum would need to protect himself from these vermin. Once Aptom and his plural had expended their reserves of energy (which took long enough to be impressive under other circumstances), Imakarum fired a powerful beam of energy from his Zoacrystal.

The clone's scream as it was disintegrated was particularly satisfying.

However, Aptom himself had somehow managed to transform his entire biomass into a massive complement of missiles. These he fired at extreme speed, aiming them with the kind of precision that Imakarum had not thought to expect from a creature that no longer possessed eyes. He quickly raised his barrier once again, but three of the missiles slipped through before it had solidified enough to repel them. Redirecting the bio-missiles with his telepathic power was completely out of the question: these were merely imitations of the Hyper Zoanoid Gaster's bio-missiles, and everyone was aware that Lost Numbers by their very nature were completely uncontrollable, so he did not even bother to try.

He still had other options, of course. A trio of Gravity Bullets detonated the remaining missiles, leaving Imakarum free to devote his attention to the final destruction of the Anti Chronos Task Force's main center of operations.

XxXxX

The last remaining bio-missile, subtly different from the others, turned away from the ACTF barracks as it streaked low over the ground. Dropping into one of the disguised air vents for the escape tunnel, the bio-missile shifted, melting until it was the consistency of warm Jello, then oozed and slid and flowed down through the shaft on its way to the tunnel.

Aptom, who'd been waiting for just this sort of thing to happen, jogged over to the opening of the vent, where he could sense the approach of his other's biomass, and held out his right hand. The stream of soft, nigh-liquefied biomatter fell onto Aptom's hand and wrist. The Lost Unit reflexively closed his hand around it as the cells and their attendant memories rejoined his main body-mass.

"He's in position," Aptom said, once he'd managed to find one of the soldier-boys in the press of bodies inside the tunnel. "Tell the boss-guys they can start blowing things up now."

"I'll pass the word along. Thanks for keeping an eye out," the soldier-boy said, nodding to him in the kind of respectful way that he'd started getting used to during his time with these guys.

"Among other things," Aptom muttered as the soldier-boy made his way through the crowd, chuckling softly.

The group itself kept moving, and Aptom didn't even try to stop himself from wondering about this mysterious Alpha Site that all of the soldier-boys seemed so eager to get to. It had to be well-hidden, or at least incredibly well-defended, since none of the soldier-boys he'd gotten to know were in any way particularly careless. Still, that didn't answer the question of how these guys were going to be able to shelter a quarter of L.A.'s population from Chronos, or where they were even going to put them in the first place.

Looking around, he saw that the ACTF guys were starting to pass out food bars and bottles of water. He was a bit confused about that, but when he thought about it he found he could remember some of those same people starting to complain about being hungry or thirsty, or both. He'd mostly ignored it since it didn't relate to him.

"Hey! Do you want one of these?" asked one of the soldier-boys, having obviously gotten close to him while he'd been thinking; she was lucky they hadn't been in combat.

"I don't have a stomach," he countered, dismissing the soldier from his mind.

"Fair enough," she shrugged, turning to hand over the ration bar she'd been carrying to a woman on Aptom's right.

Just as he was about to start walking again, he noticed a little girl staring up at him.

"Why don't you have a stomach, mister?" she asked, her confusion obvious on her little five-year-old face.

"'Cause I'm _special_," he said, smirking.

"But then how do you eat if you don't have a stomach?"

"I really don't think your parents would appreciate me telling you all the gory details, kid."

"Elisa!"

"Oh, hi Daddy."

"Thanks for keeping an eye on my little girl," said a tallish, dark-haired man who'd just walked up to them. "Isn't she just the cutest little thing you've ever seen?"

"Whatever you say," he said offhandedly, already turning to walk away.

"I have pictures, too," he heard the man say, clearly having jogged in order to keep up with Aptom's long stride.

Aptom himself, his temper already frayed from having been killed several times by that damned asshole of a Zoalord, was most definitely not in the mood to deal with overenthusiastic-Dad-guy. So the Lost Unit opted to end the conversation before it had a chance to get started. Shifting his left arm into a respectably huge heat-laser cannon, Aptom turned and aimed it directly at the guy's head. Opening the emitter, revealing the smooth, blood-red focusing lens he'd designed for himself after eating so many of Chronos' bio-blaster type Zoanoids, he charged up the emitter; the electronic humming, combined with the soft but steadily-increasing glow from the lens did a great job of getting Overenthusiastic-Dad-Guy's attention.

"How much do you think I'm _not_ interested?" he asked, smirking.

"Maybe we can look at pictures later," the guy said hastily, looking a bit cowed, but not as much as Aptom would have liked.

"Yeah," he scoffed, turning away from the man, morphing his arm back into its usual state even as he did so. "_That's_ real likely."

Making his way through the front of the group, even as they all continued moving forward, Aptom wondered again just when they were all going to reach their destination. Whatever it was, it _had_ to be better than here.


	15. Conquered

There was one last plane in the air, and Zektor wanted it for himself. While it _was_ a simple fact that his wings were too short and stubby to let him fly, they still had their uses. There was no point in wasting his only Cannon shot on a moving target, but that didn't mean he couldn't take down this plane; it just meant he'd have to get a bit _creative_.

"Darzerb! Catapult!"

Running at his fellow Hyper Zoanoid, Zektor saw Darzerb lace his fingers together and crouch, standing ready for what would come next. When Zektor reached his comrade, he leaped just as the larger Hyper Zoanoid straightened and flung his arms upward, launching him at the last of the planes. Digging his claws into the body of the plane, Zektor clambered hand-over-hand up the fuselage to the cockpit. Smashing the canopy with a vicious double axe-handle, Zektor ripped the pilot out of his chair.

Or, at least, he _tried_ to.

The guy was belted into his seat a bit more securely than Zektor had been counting on, since only his head came off when the Hyper Zoanoid tried to remove him from it. That _was_ kind of funny, he had to admit, chuckling as he tossed the guy's head out of the plane. As the now-out-of-control plane nosedived into the ground, Zektor curled up and braced himself for impact. Well, that and the explosion, of course.

As the plane slammed into the ground, crumpling, flattening, and then exploding all around him, Zektor shielded his eyes against the flying shrapnel and burning debris. Before the last of the debris had settled to the ground, Zektor was moving to rejoin the rest of Team Five. There were no more toy soldiers in their area, and it didn't look like any more of them were coming.

On the one hand, Zektor was glad for that, because it meant he would finally get the chance to check up on the kidlet; on the other, he hadn't gotten to have much fun with the little idiots. One of the hazards of being stuck on guard-duty, really. Still, the kidlet hadn't sounded so good at the beginning of this whole thing, and not only was it Zektor's sworn duty to look after the interests and well being of the Overlord he served, the kidlet was also his friend.

There was really only one thing that he could feel comfortable doing, under the circumstances, but before he could turn around and start heading back to the Tower complex, Zektor found himself confronted by a group of Standard Zoanoids. A _happy_ group of Standard Zoanoids, so things couldn't have been going too badly.

"Sir! We've just gotten word from the other divisions: the last of the human resistance has been eliminated; every one of those idiots is dead! This entire continent is ours, sir!" The Alvix speaking for the group hesitated for a moment, and then looked sheepish. "Well, _his_, anyway."

Zektor nodded, deciding to hold off visiting the kidlet for the minute or so that it would take to issue some orders of his own: "Make sure that the insurgents are all really dead, instead of just gone into hiding or something. We don't want to have any unpleasant surprises."

"Yes, sir!" the group at large chorused.

"Good. Now, I want perimeter patrols all around the Tower complex; no sense taking chances when we don't need to. Armored Standards and bio-blasters—keep the strength and speed types in reserve, just in case the natives give you more trouble than you were expecting."

"Yes, sir," the group's spokes-Alvix said. "Do you have any other orders, sir?"

"Yeah: make sure you get the word out to all of the other divisions. And, some of you should start bringing people in for processing."

"We'll get right on that, sir," the spokes-Alvix said with a sharp nod.

"Good, get going," he said, turning away even as he heard the heavy thunder of Zoanoid footfalls retreating from him.

"You guys stay out here and make sure nothing happens," he ordered the rest of Team Five, even as he broke off and headed into the main building of the Genesis Tower complex.

"Where're _you_ headed off to, boss?" Gaster asked, then winked. "As if I couldn't guess."

"Yeah," he said, grinning. "Hold down the fort while I'm gone, ya hear?"

"We've got your back," Zancrus said, smiling. "Don't worry; nothing gets past Team Five, even if there _are_ only four of us."

Zektor grinned, waving to his comrades as he made his way back to the Tower. He had another friend to check up on now.


	16. Escape

The large group of civilians had reached someplace that looked a bit like an underground convenience store. Aptom had heard the place referred to as Station One, and he'd wondered for a bit just how many of those "Stations" they were going to find on their way to... wherever their destination was going to be. Then he figured since he was going to find out on the way anyway, he wouldn't bother himself thinking about it.

All of the people who'd come into the tunnels were eating the packaged food and drinking the bottled water that had been stored on the shelves. The foodstuffs themselves were of the easily preserved type: trail mixes and jerky and the like. A bunch of crap, as far as he was concerned.

He could still just about remember being stuck eating that kind of cardboard-tasting shit when he'd still been working for Chronos. Then again, it wasn't as if they'd have been able to restock fresh stuff if and when it had started rotting, not without a lot of unnecessary hassle. It was times like this that made Aptom profoundly glad that he didn't have a human-style digestive system anymore.

Besides, eating live Zoanoids was _so_ much more fun.

The scuffle of footsteps coming towards him caused Aptom to turn then, mildly curious about just who it could be. The fact that it turned out to be that irritating little twit with the pictures (Aptom didn't know his name and cared even less) made the Lost Unit scowl.

"You again? What, are you dense, or do you just enjoy being threatened?" Before annoying-guy could say anything in his own defense, Aptom had pointed his left hand at the guy's face, then shifted all five fingers into bio-missiles. "You open your mouth and I'll de-atomize your head, moron. Now scram; you're interrupting my me-time."

Annoying-guy was at least smart enough not to piss off someone who had missiles for fingers, and Aptom was glad he hadn't tried to push things. The fact that blowing the annoying bigmouth's head off would have made a bad impression notwithstanding, using up parts of his biomass always made him hungry.

"Nicely handled; I think you just might have shut him up for at _least_ the next few hours."

"Oh, hey Shep," Aptom said, turning to look over his shoulder at the man walking next to him. Drake Shepherd was one of the few people Aptom found who wouldn't be intimidated by him the way other guys were.

"Mind if I stick around for awhile? He's been going on and on about his kid to anyone who wants to listen, even if they don't. But, after what you did, I don't think he's going to risk getting in your firing-range again."

"You just have to know how to talk to them," he preened. "Sure, you can stick around. Just as long as you stay quiet."

"And if I talk?" Shep asked, with a look of morbid curiosity.

"Then I'll give you an acid facial," he responded, grinning as he pinched the soldier-boy's cheek.

"Duly noted," Shep said, with a short bark of a laugh.

Aptom himself nodded sharply; one thing you could always count on with Shep was that he got the point quickly. Well, that and he had a good sense of humor.

"All right, people; that's enough rest-time," Atkins called, sounding like he was somewhere near the front of the group. "Let's move out! We still have a lot of ground to cover."

Shep jerked his head in the direction that Atkins and the guys near him had started off in, obviously meaning for the two of them to get their asses in gear; they _had_ been taking it a bit slowly since they'd passed through the storage room/Station One. When he'd started walking more enthusiastically, Shep half-smiled and fell into step beside him again. The sound of hydraulic doors closing, muffled by distance and people talking but unmistakable to someone who'd heard it so many times as he had, had Aptom looking back over his right shoulder to see what was happening. Or, in this case, to see what had already happened.

There was now a very solid barrier between the now-moving group of refugees and the section of tunnel they'd just passed through, something that looked like it might even be able to stand up to a Zoanoid assault. _A short one, at least,_ Aptom mused as he turned forward again and kept walking. It wasn't like any of this was really _his_ problem; he was just along for the ride.


	17. Moments

It took a bit of doing, and kind of a lot of time, but Zektor had finally made it back to the top of the Tower. Ingriam was just stepping out of the elevator, rubbing his head and looking so disoriented that Zektor couldn't help but feel sorry for him. The kidlet hadn't been made to take this kind of stress. It wasn't good for him.

Of course, spending too much time on _that_ line of thought always made him want to hunt down the kidlet's deadbeat dad and beat and/or kick some sense into that rat-bastard's empty head, which wasn't even remotely possible. Really, even _thinking_ some of the things he did about Lord Imakarum Mirabilis was borderline treason, to say nothing of some of the things he'd thought about _doing_ to the Zoalord. It was just best not to tempt fate by dwelling on things like that.

As the kidlet started to sway more noticeably, Zektor rushed over to catch him, just before he would have collapsed right onto the floor.

"Zektor-niisan," the kidlet muttered, just before he conked out entirely.

"Yeah, I'm right here for you, kidlet," Zektor spoke softly, gathering their little Overlord up into his arms. "You just catch up on your sleep."

Once he was sure he wouldn't be disturbing the kidlet when he started walking, Zektor made his way down the short corridor and back to the little Overlord's room. Opening the door while trying not to move his arms too much was a decent challenge, but after all he'd been through that day Zektor wasn't about to be stopped by something so mundane. Once he'd gotten back inside, Zektor was confronted with the neat piles of the Zoalord's large collection of stuffed animals.

He grinned, thinking fondly of how much he and the other members of Team Five had contributed to that particular collection. Granted, the centerpiece still was, and probably always would be, the old and worn stuffed tiger that his dad had bought for him back when he'd turned five. Settling the kidlet comfortably back onto his bed, Zektor fetched the animal from its place of honor on top of Ingriam's nightstand.

Setting it down next to him, Zektor smiled as he watched the kidlet cuddle it to himself. Flipping the blankets back up over Ingriam's deeply sleeping form, Zektor turned and left the room. There were still things that needed doing, and as the second-highest ranked Zoaform in the Section, it fell to him to get them done.

XxXxX

_The grass was pretty, the sun was shining, and Ingriam knew he was dreaming. This place looked nice, but the grass didn't feel real to him, and he couldn't feel the warm sunshine; he could also remember big brother Zektor carrying him back to his room, so that meant he probably was asleep. And that meant that the big tree he was sitting under wasn't real, either._

_Still, it was pretty._

_Leaning back against his tree, Ingriam trailed his fingers in the stream he'd just made appear. Flicking the water around for a bit, Ingriam started to sense someone else in his dream with him. Someone who was strong; really, really strong._

_Turning to see who this new person was, Ingriam found Alkanphel looking down at him with a big, nice smile._

_-Even after all that you have been through, little one, you still think of yourself this way,- Alkanphel said, still smiling as he gently lifted Ingriam's small body up and cradled him in his warm, strong arms._

_Ingriam smiled too, nuzzling his head into the soft folds of Alkanphel's white robe. Cuddling the older Zoalord, Ingriam let himself relax as Alkanphel rubbed his back. Hearing the older Zoalord sigh, Ingriam looked back up at him. Was there something wrong?_

_What was it? And was there anything he could do to fix it, if there was?_

_When Alkanphel started smiling again, he was a little confused at first, but then he felt better. Maybe nothing was wrong at all; that would be really good. Ingriam didn't like it when things went wrong; that made people sad. And when the people around him were sad, that made him sad, too._

_When Alkanphel gently ruffled his hair, Ingriam smiled up at him._

_-Nothing is wrong, little one; I simply know how much you enjoy this place. You always return here when you sleep, after all. Now, however, I need you to wake up.-_

Even as he heard Alkanphel say that, Ingriam's eyes snapped open, and the young Zoalord found himself staring at his bedside table.

_-What did you wake me up for? What do you need me to do, Alkanphel?-_

_-There is a message that we of Chronos will be sending to the world, little one. All of the Council is to be present for this declaration. As you are one of us, you are to be present, as well.-_

_-Oh, okay,-_ he said, climbing up out of his bed and starting to put on the silver-and-blue armor that big brother Zektor had taken off him when he'd put Ingriam to bed. _-Wait, if all of the Zoalords are going to be there, then does that mean that Dad's going to be there, too?-_

Alkanphel chuckled gently. _-Yes, little one, your father will be there.-_

_-Great! I hope I get to talk to him again.-_

Walking out onto his small balcony, Ingriam flew off. The wind felt nice, almost like it was happy to see him as he flew higher. Alkanphel had already showed him pictures of where he wanted Ingriam to go: some big mountain he thought it looked really pretty with all that snow on top of it, and Ingriam found that he also knew where it was. He was going to have to fly _really_ fast if he wanted to get there. And he'd have to remember to thank Alkanphel for doing that, too.

_-Little one?-_

_-Oh, hi Alkanphel! I was just going to thank you for telling, well, no more like showing me, how to get to that big mountain you wanted me to go to.-_

_-Mount Ararat.-_

_-Huh?-_

_-The mountain's name is Ararat. But that is not the reason I contacted you right now; I'm curious as to why you have not teleported here yet.-_

_-Oh,-_ he said, pausing in midair. _-Was I supposed to?-_

_-That _was _the general idea, little one,-_ Alkanphel said, almost seeming to laugh.

Ingriam bit his lip. _ -Oh. Well, I- I'm sorry; I didn't know.-_

_-It's nothing against you, little one. I suppose I simply didn't make my instructions clear enough for your benefit.-_

_-Also, um... I don't- I mean, I don't really...-_ He stopped, looking down; he really didn't want to disappoint Alkanphel.

_-Masaki never taught you how to teleport?-_

_-No,-_ he said, shaking his head; Alkanphel was probably so disappointed in him now.

_-Then I will take it upon myself to teach you that skill, little one.-_

Ingriam wondered for a few moments how Alkanphel was going to do that, when all of a sudden he felt a brief, powerful surge of energy coming from just behind him. The bright flash from behind his head and all the energy told him someone had just teleported in behind him. Turning, he found Alkanphel.

_-What are _you _doing here, Alkanphel? I mean- I don't mean it's not good to see you, but... why are you here?-_

_-I came so that I would be able to teach you how to teleport, little one.-_

Smiling, Ingriam threw his arms around Alkanphel's neck, snuggling up against where his soft robes peeked out of his armor. _-I'm glad you're here.-_

He felt Alkanphel stroking the back of his neck, and he smiled wider. _-Just follow along with me, Kenji; I will show you what needs to be done.-_

Even as he was hugging Alkanphel, Ingriam shivered; that couldn't mean what he thought it meant, right? Alkanphel wouldn't do that to him, would he?

_-What's wrong, little one?-_

_-You- you called me Kenji, just now.-_

_-Would you prefer that I not, little one?-_ Alkanphel asked, sounding a little confused.

Ingriam snuggled closer, burying his face in Alkanphel's hair. He really didn't want to think like that, but it had already happened once. That meant that it _could_ happen again; he didn't want it to, but it could. _-It's not that. I mean, I don't _want _you to stop. But that- that was what Dad always called me. And then he... then, he...-_


	18. Memory

_So, now it becomes clearer,_ Alkanphel mused, behind the mental walls that every Zoalord learned to create for themselves if they wanted to have any privacy. _-Don't worry about those kinds of things, Kenji. I would never do something so foolish as abandon you to face the world on your own,-_ he said, feeling a slight flare of annoyance that he carefully blocked from Kenji's mind; Masaki was going to have to answer for this. _-And I will speak to Masaki about his decision to do so. I will never leave you, Kenji. I promise.-_

Embracing the youngest member of his Council all the more tightly, Alkanphel waited for him to relax. When the young Zoalord had calmed down enough that he was no longer so completely desperate for the comfort of Alkanphel's arms, the Supreme Zoalord released him so that the boy could fly on his own. Alkanphel took note of the way Kenji flew a bit lower and farther back than he did, and he wondered what the reason for such a thing could be.

Then, once he had performed a light telepathic scan of the boy, he found that the reason for such a habit was that Kenji was accustomed to others being taller than him. Alkanphel supposed that he could understand the boy's reasoning, though the fact that Kenji tried to make himself look smaller and substantially _less_ than he truly was could prove to be a disadvantage to his Ninth Zoalord. On the other hand, it was almost guaranteed to make the boy's opponents underestimate him, and Kenji could really be quite vicious when properly provoked.

With the proper conditioning… Alkanphel decided right then and there that, since Masaki was either unable or unwilling to face the current situation, he would teach Kenji how to best use his talents and temperament to achieve results that would benefit both himself and Chronos as a whole. For the moment, however, they had more pressing business elsewhere.

_-Now, Kenji, in regards to your training. Come here.-_

_-Huh?-_

_-Come back over to me, Kenji.-_

The child seemed to realize what it was that Alkanphel wanted of him, even without any prodding from the Supreme Zoalord. He smiled, pleased, as the young Zoalord flew back over to him without another word.

_-Good. Now close your eyes, Kenji, and concentrate.-_

_-Concentrate? On what?-_

_-On the impressions of Mt. Ararat that I sent you, Kenji. Remember the snow?-_

_-Yeah;_ _snow's pretty. I like snow.-_

_-I know you do, little one,- _he said, fondly amused. _-Now, focus on that, and let the other sensations filter in: the smell of the air, the quality of the light, the sounds that can be heard in the area. Hold all of this in your mind, and then imagine yourself actually _there_.-_

Alkanphel could sense Kenji's young mind working frantically to balance and then process all of the instructions that he had just been given, and he knew almost at once that the young Zoalord was going to fail at his chosen endeavor. It was simply too much for Kenji's still childlike mind to cope with at once, too many different tasks for one so inexperienced to handle.

_-Here, Kenji,-_ he said, placing his fingertips on the young Zoalord's temples. _-Let me—_

_-No!-_ Kenji shouted, swatting Alkanphel's hands away. _-I can do this on my own.-_

Alkanphel, having felt such a profound burst of terror from Kenji when his Ninth Zoalord had spoken, decided to investigate further while the young Zoalord was distracted. Kenji's terror seemed to be linked to Masaki, for reasons that Alkanphel was unaware of as yet. However, he was determined to find the reason for such a strong reaction on Kenji's part. Venturing deeper along the links of memory that had formed in Kenji's young mind, Alkanphel found his answer.

And, for the first time since he had met the man who had become his _loyal_ Twelfth Zoalord, Alkanphel soundly and bitterly cursed Masaki for his utter stupidity.

Apparently, Kenji, with his childlike faith in his father's infallibility, had become convinced that his love for his father had been what ultimately convinced Masaki to withdraw from him. More than that, the little one also thought that it would happen again, that anyone and everyone he showed too much affection for would inevitably leave him. And therein lay his greatest fear: abandonment.

To be left completely and utterly without companionship terrified his loyal Ninth Zoalord almost to the point of catatonia, Alkanphel now knew, a fear that had only been made worse by so many months spent alone in a tent. To such a young human, one for whom even a single day could last a subjective eternity, such a thing had been slow torture.

That, he realized now, was why his Ninth Zoalord had trusted Reholt so easily. Not so much because of anything the former Zoalord had said, but merely for the fact that Kenji had been so desperately lonely at that time in his life that he would have likely have gone with _anyone_ who offered him companionship. The only reason that Masaki had been unaware of such a fact—aside from the swiftly-becoming-obvious fact that his Twelfth Zoalord possessed the worst case of tunnel-vision possible when it came to his son—was that Kenji himself had not wanted to burden his father with such knowledge. Having witnessed firsthand how Masaki's processing into a Proto-Zoalord had affected him, Kenji had decided then and there that he would act to protect his father using any method he could.

It was an admirable decision, Alkanphel thought, and he could clearly understand Kenji's desire to spare Masaki any unnecessary suffering. Still, the fact that Masaki had not noticed Kenji's distress on his own annoyed Alkanphel somewhat.

_-I swore that I would not leave you, Kenji,-_ he said, reaching out to caress his Ninth Zoalord's cheek. _-I have not forgotten that promise, nor do I ever intend to.- _Sensing that Kenji's mind was no longer so overcome by both terror and sadness, Alkanphel touched the young Zoalord's left shoulder. _-Now Kenji, would you like to continue your lesson, or would you prefer that I teleport you to Mr. Ararat instead?-_

_-No; I'd really like to do this on my own, thanks.-_

_-Then I will help you to learn this, Kenji,-_ he said, smiling and brushing the side of Kenji's face with his fingertips. _-Now, close your eyes and concentrate on the mental impressions that I gave you of Mt. Ararat.-_

_-Right,-_ Kenji said, nodding and taking a deep breath.

_-Good,-_ he said, sensing the young Zoalord's more intense concentration. _-Now, focus on being there,-_ he continued, taking hold of Kenji's hands and gently stroking the young Zoalord's palms to provide him with the comfort of physical contact that he desired, especially when something such as this was being asked of him.

_-Okay.-_ Kenji hesitated for a moment. _-I... I think I can see it now.-_

Alkanphel saw a flash of light, felt a surge of energy, and then he found that Kenji had indeed managed to teleport himself to Mt. Ararat, just as he had said he would. To be certain that the young Zoalord had managed the feat on his own, Alkanphel had found it necessary to let go of Ninth Zoalord's hands. Still, Alkanphel _had_ kept their hands in close proximity, both to reassure Kenji and so that he would have been able to bring Kenji along if for some reason the young Zoalord had not yet managed to master the skill of teleportation.

However, for Kenji's own sake, Alkanphel was glad that he had in fact managed to accomplish such a feat on his own. Seeing that all of his other Zoalords were gathered at the peak of the mountain, Alkanphel smiled softly.`


	19. Triumph

"Greetings, Lord Alkanphel," Shin said as Kenji turned around to give Alkanphel a soft kiss on his right cheek. "And to you as well, Ingriam."

"Hi, Shin," Kenji called cheerfully, smiling as he waved to the Third Zoalord.

_-My Lord?-_ he heard Shin's mental query. -_Are you certain that it was a wise idea to have brought the child along? I mean no disrespect when I ask you this, Lord Alkanphel, but Ingriam's manner of speech is rather more informal than would benefit this message.-_

_-If Kenji seems as if he is about to speak out of turn, or to speak more plainly than I would prefer, I will simply instruct him not to do so.-_

_-And what if his distress over his father's actions gets the better of him, my Lord?-_ Shin turned to look over at Masaki, considering the younger Zoalord for a long moment. _-Imakarum does not seem particularly disposed to repair the bonds he broke as yet.-_

_-If _that _becomes a problem, then I will help Kenji to say his part in our message.-_

Shin nodded and turned to find his place among the other Overlords of Chronos, who were taking their places according to their rank within the hierarchy of Chronos—all of them, that was, save for Kenji himself. It seemed as if the youngest of his Council wanted to go to Masaki, perhaps to speak with his father regarding the latter's treatment of him, or perhaps simply to stand at Masaki's side while Chronos' message to the world was broadcast.

Neither would be possible, and so he was grateful for the firm grip that Tuarhan maintained on the young Zoalord's left arm, keeping the child in his place. Kenji was struggling, of course, his desperate desire to be near Masaki again giving him strength enough that Tuarhan had to work to keep hold of him. It would not impress the humans – as fixated as they were on appearances – to see Kenji clinging to his father and fawning over Masaki the way he would always do when they were together. That was assuming that Masaki would even let him do such a thing in the first place, and he knew that wasn't the case at this time. Still, perhaps the situation could be remedied.

_-Kenji, calm down. Out reporters are going to be here very soon, and remember what I told you about making a good impression on the humans?-_

_-I know all that, Alkanphel. It's just that-_

_-You miss your father,-_ he stated, knowing what the child was going to say. _-I know, Kenji. Believe me, I know how it is to be abandoned by someone you care for so much. Do you think you can maintain your composure for twenty minutes, at least?-_

_-I don't know,-_ Kenji said, still looking toward Masaki but no longer struggling in Tuarhan's grip. _-Maybe.-_

Not the definitive answer that he had been hoping for, but still not entirely unexpected on the Supreme Zoalord's part. Kenji was still rather fragile when confronted with reminders of his father, and it was so much worse for him now that Masaki himself was here, and yet still refusing to acknowledge the young Zoalord. Alkanphel could only be grateful that Masaki had never tried to _murder_ Kenji, as that would have caused his rather fragile Ninth Zoalord to shatter entirely.

_-Relax, Kenji,-_ he said, brushing the young Zoalord's right temple with the tips of his fingers. _-Just_ _try to calm yourself. If you feel that you will not be able to deliver your part of our message clearly with Masaki so close, then I will help you. Would you like that?-_

Still looking towards – and clearly thinking about – his father, Kenji nodded almost unconsciously. Gently taking control of Kenji's physical functions, Alkanphel shifted his young Ninth Zoalord's consciousness aside.

_-What are you doing, Alkanphel?-_

_-You gave my consent to help you, remember, little one?-_ When Kenji showed signs of recollection, he continued, _-That is what I'm doing now, Kenji: helping you. Since you feel that you would be unable to deliver your part of out message, I will do it for you.-_

_-Really? Um, thanks!-_

_-Of course. Just relax and don't resist me, Kenji. This will all be over quite soon.-_

_-Okay.-_

Turning away from Kenji, now completely under his influence and standing at attention as the rest of his Zoalords were, Alkanphel strode forward to take his own place at the head of the Council of Twelve. The new leaders of this world.

_-I hope your efforts to keep young Ingriam under control do not cause you any undue difficulty, my Lord.-_

_-Thank you, Tuarhan.-_


	20. Remainders

They'd made five stops at these kinds of underground convenience stores. The ACTF called them Waystation Points, but Aptom didn't find that nearly as funny as what he'd decided to call them originally; the general consensus was that there were five more Waystation Points between them and their destination, some huge complex that had been built beneath Cheyenne Mountain. Ryan had been making jokes about some place called the SGC ever since he'd woken up, at least when he wasn't busily stuffing his face. Most of the ACTF's soldier-boys seemed to know what he was talking about, since they were laughing.

Aptom, however, was completely bored.

That, and hungry; it hadn't yet gotten to the point where he was hoping that a group of Zoanoids would break through the roof of the tunnel and attack just so he could eat them, but he _was_ hoping to get to the complex soon so he could leave and go hunting. There had to be a lot of Zoanoids in the area, given the number Chronos had been throwing out. He was taking care not to use any of his ranged- or energy-weapons, since there weren't any Zoanoids here to kill and he didn't have any way to replace the biomass that he burned when he used his weapons.

For the first time since he'd become a Lost Unit – or whatever the hell he was now – Aptom was starting to wish he was still capable of eating normal food. Sure, he could still bite and chew, and he would occasionally swallow when the mood struck him, but that was as far as it went. And the thought of having rotting food stuck somewhere inside his body wasn't one that Aptom entertained for very long.

Of course, there _was_ the option of spitting said food at people he didn't like, but no one in the tunnel had annoyed him enough that he wanted to spit half-chewed and/or rotten food at them. Not yet, anyway, and besides, all of the food being offered was that dried jerky crap that he remembered enough to loathe from his days working for Chronos. He'd have had be a damned lot hungrier than he was at the moment to even _consider_ touching that tasteless, leathery crap.

"So, when are we going to make it to Station Six?"

"How the hell should _I_ know?" he demanded, glaring over at the idiot who'd come over to pester him.

Said idiot took two large steps back under the force of Aptom's glare. "Hey, I'm sorry. You were the closest one wearing an ACTF uniform, so I just figured-"

"Yeah, well you _figured_ wrong," Aptom snarled, inwardly laughing his ass off at how easily he was intimidating the idiot just by stalking up to him with his fists tightly clenched. "You're annoying me, so why don't you just go the hell away _before I chew your face off_?!"

The guy ran off like the hounds of Hell were snapping at his heels, and Aptom finally let loose the laughter he'd been holding back.

"Went a little overboard there, don't ya think?"

"Shut it, Shep!" he retorted, smirking. "You wouldn't have wanted to deal with that squawking twerp any more than I did."

"Yeah, but I think I would have been a little nicer about it," Drake chuckled.

"Nice is boring," Aptom said, rolling his eyes.

XxXxX

_)How are you holding up, kid?(_

_)I'm doing pretty good; how about you, Snake-head?(_

_)I could do with some variation in the scenery, the current menu leaves a lot to be desired, and the farther we get from that bastard Zoanoid-eater the happier I'll be.(_

_)Snake-head, you get cranky just sharing a _continent _with the guy. About how far away does he have to be before you'll stop bitching about having to deal with him?(_

_)The next planet over sounds like a good place to start. And I don't bitch; bitching's not one of the things that I do.(_

_)Thanks for that little clarification, Mojo Jojo. Oh, and for future reference: that thing you do whenever Aptom's around, that would be bitching.(_

_)I don't bitch, kid.(_

_)And now you're bitching about the fact that I called you out on your bitching. Wow; I think that might almost be post-modern.(_

Elegen subsided, grumbling as Ryan started laughing inwardly.

"What're you so giddy about?"

"Oh, hey Sean," Ryan said, offering a wave to his fellow Guyver. "How're you holding up?"

"I'm fine," Sean said, watching as Ryan scarfed some more beef jerky. "But, what had you so happy back there? I know you're happy to be able to get some food in you, and after using the Giga Unit for as long as you did I'm not surprised, but why did you look so smug a couple minutes ago?"

"No real reason," he said, smirking. "I just won another debate _and_ managed to get the last word."

"Aren't those two things kind of the same?" Sean asked, looking mildly confused.

"Yeah," he said, his smirk widening slightly from the force of his amusement. "That's how I managed to do them both at the same time," he finished with a laugh.

"You're strange," Sean said, shaking his head.

_)You suck, kid.(_

_)Quiet, you.(_

"Is he trying to one-up you, or did you space out on me for some other reason?"

"He's started bitching again," he said, knowing that that was bound to get under a certain someone's proverbial skin.

_)I'm not bitching.(_

_)Sure, that last time you were just insulting me. Those last times, though, those were bitching.(_

_)I am _not_ bitching.(_

_)Now you are.(_

"Another argument?" Sean asked.

"Nah," he said, grinning and shrugging. "Just telling it like it is. I think we might be coming up on Station Six soon. It'll be nice to have a nap and get some more water."

"Yeah, that'll be good."

Looking back at all the people following them, all the people that he and Sean had worked so hard to save from the Zoanoids that had been attacking their city, Ryan hoped that all of them would be able to make it to the Alpha Site buried beneath Cheyenne Mountain undiscovered. It would be a defensible position, at least.


	21. Chronos

Maldu had been riding herd on all of the kids that Chronos had rescued from the ruined cities in this area while X-Day had been in progress. The little tykes were nice to deal with in small numbers, but with this many of them at once, Maldu was starting to feel just a tiny bit frazzled. The fact that they were searching for the kids' parents made him feel better, and the support of his fellow Zoanoids helped too, of course.

"We've got another family here to pick up their kid," a Gregole said as he walked up to Maldu with a smile. "Nice hat, by the way."

Maldu reached up, ruffling the hair of the little kid sitting on his shoulders. "Yeah, I think this could catch on here. For a little while, anyway," he said, chuckling.

The Gregole laughed, and the two of them made their way into the large room that had been filled with toys, games, and books to keep the little people from getting too bored while they waited for their parents to come and pick them up. Or… not. Those whose parents couldn't be located or just didn't want to bother coming to pick them up would end up becoming wards of Chronos.

They'd end up rooming with the Zoanoids—the males if the kids were really young, and the females for the teens.

The kids would probably end up becoming Zoanoids, but Maldu personally thought he could spot a few future scientists in the bunch. He watched as Gregole knelt down to talk to one of the little girls, describing the people who'd come to the building claiming to be her parents. The girl herself looked enthusiastic, even running up to hug Gregole at one point, so it was a fair bet that these were the right people.

Still, Maldu knew that some Chronos agents would be sent out to make absolutely sure that she was okay. The boy riding on his shoulders was starting to squirm, so Maldu let him down; the kid hugged his right leg and ran over to join the others who were playing with the large assortment of toy cars that some of Maldu's fellow Zoanoids had gathered from some mall or other. Hearing light footfalls, definitely a little kid's from the length of the stride, Maldu turned to look down.

It turned out to be a little girl, a really little girl, a really cute little girl with an adorably cherubic smile and – oh, crap, he was getting all mushy again.

"Hey there," Maldu said, crouching to bring his face almost level with hers. "Is there something I can do for you, sweetheart?"

"Come have tea with us, please?"

"Well, sure!" he said enthusiastically, smiling without showing his teeth. No sense scaring the little tyke, after all. "Just lead the way."

"Great!" The little girl clapped her hands excitedly, grabbed hold of a patch of fur on his upper-thigh, and unhesitatingly led Maldu deeper into the toy-filled room.

He spotted the little table that was presumably their destination a fair bit before the girl herself even seemed to notice it, but then he was a Zoanoid and also a lot taller, so that was pretty much a given. He also spotted the Chaltu sitting at the little table, next to a grinning boy who looked maybe a year older than the girl who had yet to let go of his leg fur.

"We got four people now, Brian, so that means we can start the tea party!"

The tea set was made of pink plastic; nothing like Lord Caerleon's elegant, gold-rimmed china, with the delicate flowers and vines and leaves painted on. And Maldu's enhanced sense of smell made him perfectly aware that there was nothing at all inside any of those plastic dishes, not Earl Grey, or Lord Caerleon's delicious vanilla blend, or even tap water. There was also the clear, distinct smell of new plastic, which Maldu didn't like at all.

Looking up at his fellow Zoanoid, he saw the Chaltu giving him a wry, commiserating sort of grin: they both might have been big, tough Zoanoids, fully capable of killing adult combatants, but they always went a bit mushy in the head at the sight of little kids.

Probably had something to do with the instinct that made most of them go gaga over certain female Zoanoids, or even certain "normal" women that looked like good breeding stock. It was just a good thing that none of those ACTF bitches had managed to find out about _that_ little fact. They'd have obviously tried to use that to their advantage.

"Hey," called the little boy; Brian, Maldu recalled. "That guy's name is Chaltu, and he looks like a cheetah, so does that mean that _your_ name is Tigu? 'Cause you look like a tiger."

He chuckled. "Sorry to burst your bubble, kid, but my name's Maldu. Nice work on figuring out old Chaltu, though. Most people can't figure out _what_ he'd based on. I think the general consensus is that Chaltus are leopard-based."

"Aren't you going to drink your tea?" asked the little girl.

"Oh, I'm sorry," he said, smiling at her. "Did you already pour me some?"

"Yes," she said, sounding like she was chiding him.

"Sorry about that," Maldu said amicably, lifting the empty plastic cup to his mouth and tilting it back as if he was drinking out of it. "Good stuff; those are pretty buttons, by the way," he said, pointing to a small, pink saucer full of buttons in several different colors.

"Those are cookies!" the little girl shouted, seeming genuinely annoyed.

"My mistake," he said, a bit surprised at her vehemence.

"Don't mind him, he doesn't think," Chaltu said, laughing.

"Don't listen to _him_, he's a jerk," he shot back, grinning as he considered the merits of throwing one of the buttons at Chaltu.

The fact that his fellow Zoanoid would have caught it without any trouble notwithstanding, the little girl didn't look like she'd be too happy with him it he started a "food" fight. Maldu settled for sticking his tongue out at his fellow Zoanoid instead.

"That's not very nice," the little girl chided, pouring them all another cup of air.

"Well, _he_ wasn't bein' very nice to _me_."

"Well, all right," the little girl said, with the cutest long-suffering air that Maldu had ever seen – and damn but he really needed to stop going all mushy like that. "Just don't do it again."

"Yes, mother," Maldu muttered, just loud enough for the enhanced hearing of one of his fellow Zoanoids to pick up on.

Chaltu grinned slightly, letting Maldu know that he'd appreciated the joke.

The little girl – he really needed to learn her name sometime soon – was looking at him with an utterly adorable confused expression and- _Okay, needing to think about something else now, before I go _completely_ mushy in the head. Something like..._ Subtly, Maldu cast about for something to take his mind off of the nearly overwhelming cuteness of the little kids he was babysitting. Maldu's gaze fell eventually on the small plastic chairs that the kids were sitting on.

He and Chaltu were sitting on the floor, of course, since there hadn't been a plastic chair made that could hold 330-plus pounds of weight for longer than two seconds. 335 in Maldu's case, and 337 in Chaltu's.


	22. Secrecy

As the hydraulic doors closed behind them, sealing off the rout to Station Six, Ryan couldn't help but wonder how the ACTF planned to keep this escape-tunnel from becoming a way for Chronos' armies to come merrily storming into the Alpha Site once they discovered the outer doors. Sure, with all the food and water gone from the various Waystation Points they passed, there was a better than average chance of the Zoanoids that were sent into the tunnel itself dying in transit, either of starvation or (more likely) dehydration.

_)Happy thoughts there, kid.(_

_)You can't honestly tell me that you haven't been thinking the same thing. Not and have me believe you, anyway.(_

_)I wasn't saying anything like that; you were being morbid again, kid. One thing I know about Chronos, though, is that even if the first few teams end up dying en-route, the later ones won't. They'll be sent down here with at _least_ enough supplies to get them far enough to get a look in one of those Waystations we passed. And any other teams they send in are going to be better equipped than the previous ones. Progressively better equipped.(_

_)I know. That's why I'm going to find out exactly what kind of deterrents Atkins has set up to keep any unwanted visitors out.(_

_)Good; I'd really like to know how he plans to deal with them, too.(_

_)All right, then.(_

His eyes fluttered for a moment as Ryan regained full, conscious control over his body. Making his way to the front of the crowd, where Atkins, Sean, and some of the Police and ACTF Mobile Division survivors were walking, Ryan edged into the group and started negotiating his way to the front of it. Ryan might have been interested in his fellow Guyver's take on what had gone down yesterday if he hadn't been quite so concerned about the whole keeping-Zoanoids-the-hell-out-of-the-Alpha-Site thing.

"Can't believe something like that Murakami would have done something like that," Sean said, giving Ryan the distinct feeling that he'd just walked in on the middle of a conversation.

"Yeah, but he did; and now _we_ have to deal with it. And _him_," Atkins snarled. "I just can't believe I let that lying little shit play me for so long. He was probably planning this from the first time we met. Hell, I'd even be willing to bet he had his son in on the whole thing; probably grooming the poor kid to follow in his footsteps."

"Given how close you said they were, that sounds about right," the woman on Sean's left, the one he'd introduced as Cori, said sadly.

"Actually, from what Sho told me, he didn't have much of a choice," he put in.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Atkins asked, turning a curious expression on him.

"Sho told me that, the last time he saw Masaki Murakami, that guy was flat on his back with his guts blown out."

"_What_?!"

Smirking at Atkins' stunned-bunny expression, Ryan continued. "Last time I checked, getting one's guts blown out is kind of a problem no matter _what_ you are."

"Sho's the one you worked with before, isn't he?" Cori asked, turning his way slightly. "That other Guyver."

"Sho was the first Guyver I ever met," he confirmed, nodding.

"According to what we were able to dig out from Chronos' files before all of this happened, Sho Fukamachi was the first Guyver ever to appear," Atkins said, clearly over his earlier shock. "He even beat _you_ by half a month, Barker."

"Yeah?" Sean asked offhandedly, already seeming to be concentrating on something else entirely.

"Wait, if your people were getting into Chronos' files, then how come nobody found out that they were planning something like this?" Cori asked.

"We were never able to get deep enough inside to access any of their plans; it was hard enough for our tech-boys just getting to the Zoanoid breeding-manifests without risking Chronos tracing our connections." Atkins paused for about half a minute. "There _was_ one time a few of them tried gathering Intel from a neutral location. That was the _only_ time we attempted to do that, however."

"Why?" Cori asked, looking from Atkins to Ryan; the red-haired Guyver was giving Atkins almost knowing look.

"The place used was a library, during business hours. The idea was to hide our people in plain sight. No one thought that Chronos would be willing to make any drastic moves, for fear of revealing themselves to the public. They'd seemed so hell-bent on operating in secret." He cast a thoughtful glance back down the tunnel. "Well, at least until today."

"What did they do?" Cori asked warily, seeming to know that she wouldn't like the answer.

"They burned the place down," Atkins said flatly. "Tried to cover it up, said it was just some random act of arson; police never solved the case. Still, we all know that when you get in deep enough with Chronos, nothing that bad is ever a coincidence."

"That definitely sounds like something those sick bastards would do," Ryan scoffed.

"How can you be so blasé about something like that?" Cori demanded.

"'Cause I've dealt with Chronos at their worst. If you'd have been in Japan, back before everything went straight to hell, you'd have learned to expect it, too."

"Nicely put, Crouger," Atkins said, nodding slightly in acknowledgement and respect.

"Were there any survivors?" Cori asked, dismissing Ryan's cynicism with a sharp shake of her head.

"No," Atkins said, flat and emotionless again. "We didn't manage to recover any of the data, either."

"So you guys ended up getting fucked over all around," Ryan drawled. "Great."

"What's he doing?" Atkins demanded suddenly, taking in the preoccupied expression on Sean's face.

"Sorry," the brunet Guyver said, quickly coming back to himself. "I was just talking to Sho."

"Talking to Sho?" Cori echoed, incredulous. "How?"

"Barker, the last you reported was that Sho Fukamachi wasn't coming. If you've been holding out on us-"

"It's nothing like that; Sho's still in Japan," Sean said, quickly cutting Atkins off. "Or, at least he is at the moment. He says that Agito's transporting all of them to a secured location."

"Secured location? _What_ secured location?" Cori demanded. "Aptom said that Japan was being overrun, just as badly as everywhere else."

"Our boy Agito has his own private army," Ryan said, smirking.

"A private _army_?" Atkins demanded, looking like he was going to stop dead in his tracks for a second. Working his jaw like he wanted to say something else, the de facto leader of the ACTF kept walking in silence.

"Ryan's right," Sean said, sounding mildly shocked himself. "Sho says Agito calls them Thunderbolts. Zeus' Thunderbolts."

"Zeus' Thunderbolts, huh?" Cori mused. "Sounds pretty impressive."

"Sounds like Makashima had the same idea that we did," Atkins commented, sounding impressed almost in spite of himself.

"Yeah. Sho said that he saw the Thunderbolts taking out Zoanoid battle groups with what sounded like the same kinds of weapons that ACTF uses—all except for the Betas. Or at least, if they _were_ using anything like the Alpha Units or the Betas, Sho didn't mention them."

"I get the feeling that you didn't go through all the trouble of contacting a Guyver all the way over in Japan just to check up on their own evacuation efforts," Atkins commented.

"No, I didn't," Sean said, "but that _was_ what we ended up talking about. I originally asked him about what was going on with Murakami."

All three of them noticed Ryan's wince at that particular revelation, but only Sean could make an educated guess at the source of his fellow Guyver's discomfort.

"What's wrong, Ryan?" Cori asked.

"Asking Sho about that guy is only slightly less insensitive than asking him about his dad; it's also less likely to get you a straight answer. Sho doesn't even talk to _Mizuki_ about what went on with him, and those two are as close as you and Sean seem to be. I kinda suspect that Mizuki knows what went on, though; she always gets sad when someone mentions that guy."

"That was the impression I got from Sho," Sean said, nodding at Ryan. "It sounded like a painful subject, so I decided not to push it."

"Shock of ages," Ryan muttered, smirking.

"Hey, I may be an insensitive dolt sometimes, but I _can_ be taught," Sean shot back good-naturedly.

"Yeah, but it takes years and years to punch through that thick skull of yours."

"All right you two, that's enough," Cori said, subtly stepping between the two Guyvers. "No more teasing, Sean; and you too, Ryan."

"I'm just glad to know that we might have some other allies we can count on out there," Atkins said.

Ryan scoffed. "I wouldn't put much stock in that."

"Why do you say _that_?" Sean asked, turning a concerned expression on the red-haired Guyver.

"Because Agito Makashima is a lying, back-stabbing, self-serving little creep." Ryan paused then, both for breath and to gather his thoughts. "And the only reason that Sho hasn't noticed that yet is because he's too much of an optimist. Well, that and the fact that Agito probably figures that he can still get some use out of Sho." Ryan sighed, looking annoyed with himself. "I should never have left them alone together."

"Maybe, but it _did_ help us to have you there during the attack on L.A.," Sean said, clapping a hand on Ryan's right shoulder to help reassure the younger Guyver.

"I don't like what you're implying, Crouger," Atkins said, his concerns more practical as they had always seemed to be. "Are you trying to say that there's a Guyver out there who's just as dangerous as Chronos?"

"Pretty much," Ryan said morosely, nodding.

"Do you think he might try to do what Chronos is doing now? Or that he might attempt to take over their territory?" Atkins asked, looking wary.

"I wouldn't put anything past ol' Zeus," Ryan said, folding his arms as he and the rest of their group continued on their way down the tunnel.

The red-haired Guyver was obviously still having some issues about his decision to leave Sho to Agito's "tender mercies" back in Japan. Sean could relate to his fellow Guyver's anxiety, at least a bit. After hearing what Agito was really like, and then finding out that the guy had formed his own private army, Sean was starting to feel a bit uneasy, himself.

In the end, though, it was Cori who gave Sean something else to think about.

"He calls himself Zeus?" Cori asked, incredulous.

"Yeah, the 'Son of Chronos'," Ryan said, starting to smirk again.

"Wait, son of Chronos?" Sean asked, curious. "I thought you said he called himself Zeus."

"Zeus _is_ the son of Chronos, Sean," Cori said, gently ribbing. "Haven't you ever studied Greek mythology? Zeus was the only one of Chronos' children that wasn't swallowed by him, so he was the one who rescued all of the rest. Of course, then he took over the world and reigned as the new king of the gods." She looked thoughtful, folding her arms and adding, "It isn't a great sign that Agito is calling himself Zeus. The fact that he's also formed his own army doesn't really inspire confidence, either."

"Listen to the woman, Sean," Ryan said, grinning. "She knows what she's talking about."

_)Well, are you going to ask him now, kid? Or do you want me to?(_

"Ryan?" Sean asked, shooting a worried look at his fellow Guyver. "Are you feeling all right? You just spaced out on us all of a sudden."

"What did Elegen want?" Atkins asked, having correctly guessed the source of Ryan's momentary lapse in awareness.

"He was just reminding me about a question that we both wanted to ask you."

"What would that be, Crouger?" Atkins asked.

"Not that I'm not grateful to be able to get to this Alpha Site of yours without having to fight my way past legions of Chronos' land-based Zoanoids, but how the _hell_ do you guys plan to keep those same legions from marching right in there and killing everyone? I mean, after what you've seen, you _can't_ be stupid enough to think that some chunks of metal – thick and tempered or not – are going to stop a full-fledged Zoanoid battle group," Ryan said, an expression of mingled disbelief and concern on his face.

"Don't worry about that, Crouger," Atkins said, jerking his head back in the direction of the thick, tempered-steel doors that blocked the path back to Waystation Six. "We may not have made the best impression on you the first time we all fought together, but my boys are far from stupid. They managed to acquire massive quantities of AB foam; it's being poured into every one of the tunnels we've passed as soon as the doors close."

"How the hell is _foam_ supposed to keep Zoanoids out of here?" Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"The foam begins to harden into a rocklike consistency as soon as the two parts of the formula are combined; even _if_ those Chronos bastards somehow found out about the tunnel entrance, they'd have to dig out the whole damn tunnel system again, not to mention getting through the sealed doors we've passed."

Ryan made a soft noise of understanding, as behind them all the group of soldiers and civilian refugees kept walking, moving steadily closer to Waystation Seven.


	23. Longing

The large, toy-filled room, the primary place of residence for Chronos' Ninth Zoalord, was in shambles. The neat piles of plush animals had been kicked all over the floor, the table holding most of them had been thrown at the far wall and had broken in half, and several of the walls had deep gouges in them. The gouges had clearly been made by claws, and the owner of said claws – the Ninth Zoalord himself – was curled up on his bed, sobbing in the arms of the highest-ranked Hyper Zoanoid in the Africa Section.

That particular Hyper Zoanoid – Zektor, the leader of Team Five – wasn't quite sure what had brought on the kidlet's latest and most drastic mood-swing, but if it _didn't_ have at least something to do with the kidlet's deadbeat dad, he'd stand up at the top of the Genesis Tower naked. _Then_ he'd stand on one foot and yodel.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Zektor suppressed a snort; the only guy whose opinion could affect the kidlet _this_ badly was his dad. Just as he was starting to think about taking the kidlet back down to the cafeteria and getting Darzerb to make some of those waffles that their Overlord liked so much, he saw a bright flash of light coming from behind him. Turning, curious to know just who could possibly be the source of the nigh-overpowering psychic presence that he could now feel almost physically pressing down on him, he saw another Zoalord standing in the room with them.

That the white robed, silver-armored newcomer was a Zoalord was a fact so solid it couldn't be disputed by anyone who had encountered them before, particularly not by someone who'd spent as much time as he had around one of their ilk. As the light surrounding the Zoalord cleared completely, though the psychic pressure bearing down on him didn't let up much, Zektor was finally able to see which Zoalord had paid them a visit.

It turned out to be Alkanphel, Supreme Overlord of Chronos, head of the Council of Twelve, and generally the highest-ranked Zoaform _possible_. As Zektor bowed his head to the Zoalord of Zoalords, all the while continuing to stroke _his_ commanding Zoalord's back and hold him as he cried, he couldn't help but wonder why Alkanphel himself had decided to come to the Genesis Tower.

Was this a social call? Some kind of a surprise inspection, in which case he should really get the Ninth Zoalord back on his feet so that the Zoalord of Zoalords could see that – in spite of everything – Overlord Ingriam Mirabilis was really up to snuff? Lord Alkanphel's face was completely unreadable, his thoughts shielded, so Zektor had no real way to tell.

_-You care very much for him, don't you?-_

What was that supposed to mean? Of course he cared; the kidlet _needed_ someone to take a personal interest in him. He'd probably end up killing himself, otherwise.

_-As much as I would prefer that you were incorrect about that, I am afraid that I must agree with you.-_

Zektor, figuring that Lord Alkanphel would understand his desire to attend to his commanding Zoalord, turned his attention back to the kidlet. He'd at least stopped sobbing, and was now either asleep or just content to lie there quietly; Zektor would put his money on asleep, though. In either case, the kidlet was curled up with his head against Zektor's chest, and Zektor was gently stroking his hair.

That always seemed to calm him down.

XxXxX

For his part, Alkanphel was pleased to learn that Kenji had found someone to care for him while Masaki was… away. The young Zoalord still obviously missed his father, however. Alkanphel could more than sympathize.

Making his way over to where Kenji sat, curled up against the body of his Hyper Zoanoid aide, Alkanphel watched as the young Zoalord turned so that he could rest the left side of his head against the Hyper Zoanoid's chest.

_-Kenji.-_

_-Alkanphel? You came to visit me?-_

_-Yes, little one. I have spoken to Masaki on your behalf, Kenji. He says that, while he would be happy to visit you, he has other duties to attend to for the time being.-_

_-You mean, he _wants_ to come and see me, but he's just too busy right now?-_

_-Yes, Kenji,-_ Alkanphel said, perfectly aware of the fact that Masaki had said no such thing, but knowing that Kenji would need the reassurance that Masaki still cared for him. Kenji was still a child in so many ways; and while that _did_ make him unfailingly loyal to Chronos, sometimes he had to be handled rather delicately. _-How are you feeling, aside from that, Kenji? Have you been settling in well?-_

_-Yeah; yeah, I'm fine. No one else has made any more of those stupid Lost Numbers, and all of those army guys all got killed, so that's good. At least I won't have to worry about them causing trouble for my Zoanoids anymore.-_

_-Yes,-_ Alkanphel said, amused by Kenji's rather simple assessment of the situation. _-Are you planning to appoint overseers for your territory on your own, or will you be letting your trusted Hyper Zoanoids do it for you?-_

_-Well, if I put Hyper Zoanoids in all those spots, then I'll always be able to check and make sure that they're doing things right, right?-_

_-Yes, Kenji. It does,-_ he said, smiling at the youngest of his Zoalords.

_-Then, I think that's what I'm going to do.-_

_-That is a very admirable decision, Kenji.-_

_-Thanks!-_

Alkanphel gently brushed his fingertips across the young Zoalord's left cheek. Looking to Zektor, as the Hyper Zoanoid continued to comfort the youngest of his loyal Zoalords, Alkanphel considered him. The Hyper Zoanoid was not simply loyal to Kenji because the boy _was_ a Zoalord; Zektor truly did care for him.

Alkanphel knew this beyond all possible doubt; the Hyper Zoanoid could not hope to shield his thoughts from any Zoalord who cared to look, and more than that Zektor was not even making the attempt. When Kenji opened his eyes at last, Alkanphel stepped into the child's line of sight.

"Don't you have some other duties to attend to, Zektor?" he asked, turning his attention to the Hyper Zoanoid for a moment; loyal he might have been, but some things were not to be shared with underlings.

"The other guys can take care of that," the Hyper Zoanoid said, wrapping his right arm around Kenji's upper-torso and continuing to stroke the young Zoalord's back with his opposite hand. "This little guy still needs me here."

Stepping closer as he stroked the top of Kenji's head, Alkanphel turned to regard Zektor again. "I will look after him for the time being. Go now; I am certain that there is _something_ here that requires your personal attention at this time."

"Yeah, sure," the Hyper Zoanoid said, a dubious expression on his face; Alkanphel could understand and even respect his loyalty, but he was also obedient as all lesser Zoaforms were. "Take care of him, okay?"

"I fully intend to," he said, as he took the Hyper Zoanoid's place at Kenji's side.

Watching as Zektor left the room, and feeling Kenji curl up against him the way that he had once done with the now-departed Hyper Zoanoid, Alkanphel wrapped his arms around the youngest of his Zoalords. There would be a great many things for his loyal Ninth Zoalord to do, once he had recovered from Masaki's careless treatment of him, but for now, it was best that Kenji be allowed to rest.


	24. Settling

As he, Maldu, and the other Zoanoids assigned to this duty started rounding up the kids whose parents hadn't come for them for whatever reason, Chaltu made up his mind to just think of them as dead. They might as well have been, for all the good they had done their kids, and they really _would_ be if some of the angrier Zoanoids got their hands on them. What really would have pissed Chaltu off if he hadn't been constantly reminding himself that the kids' parents were probably dead was the fact that there were so many _little_ kids left.

He might have been willing to forgive someone who had lost track of a teenager in the chaos of X-Day, _maybe_, but to forget about a kid so young that they couldn't really take care of themselves… Chaltu reminded himself again that the parents of those particular little tykes were probably dead. Walking deeper into the crowd of Zoanoids, Zoanoids who were working to separate the teens and older kids – who were going to be staying with Chaltu and his fellow Standard Zoanoids – from the little kids, he quickly added his own contribution to their efforts.

Comforting, cajoling, and sometimes just talking to the kids who had been left… in their care, Chaltu saw the female Zoanoids starting to arrive. None of them were in their battleforms, and for that Chaltu was grateful. It was hard enough to deal with the kids who were getting freaked out by those few of his fellow Standard types that had transformed in order to act as guards just in case any of their enemies broke through their defensive lines.

It would just be too much to deal with, on today of all days.

Once the ladies had cleared all the little kids out of the room, he and his fellow Standard Zoanoids were free to round up the older ones. That, they managed with a minimum of fuss, for which Chaltu was extremely grateful. He was also grateful for the fact that _he_, personally, wasn't one of the ones who had ended up having to room with one of them. The fact that his mind was pretty much an open book for whatever Zoalord felt the need to rifle through it notwithstanding, Chaltu was a rather private person.

Sharing his personal quarters – _without_ a direct order from someone higher in the chain of command, anyway – wasn't something he was prepared to do without a fight. He was glad that he hadn't had to start one in front of all those kids. They'd been through more than enough on _this_ day of days.

On his way back to his room, Chaltu stopped off at the cafeteria to get some food. He was more than happy to be back in his human form, after spending most of his time as a guard; he'd gotten some clothes when he'd stopped off in his room, of course. When he arrived in the large cafeteria that served this building, he saw that all of the little kids were gathered together at the tables on the far end of the room.

The sheer amount of food that they'd gotten for themselves was just about what he would have expected from a mixed group of Zoanoids and little kids.

Turning his attention back to his own tray filled with food, he began at last to eat. There would be a lot of things to do, if they were going to get all of these kids comfortably settled into Chronos' ranks – that one was pretty much a given – but for now all of that could be put aside. For now, they could all work on attaining some semblance of normality again.


	25. Unknowns

Sho looked around at all of the soldiers, moving from place to place with a calmly assured sense of purpose, and found himself wondering just how and what Ryan was doing at the moment. It had been a month since Chronos had taken over the world, and three weeks since Sean had contacted him, asking about Mr. Murakami.

Thinking about Mr. Murakami had hurt too much back then – and it still did, even now – so he was glad that Sean had accepted his changing the subject pushing too hard.

_+Ryan?+_

_+Hey, Sho. What's eating you? You don't sound so good.+_

_+It's nothing; I'm fine,+ _he said quickly, not wanting Ryan to worry. _+How are you doing, though? I haven't heard anything from you or Sean for three weeks.+_

_+First of all, Sho, I know you're lying about being fine. And I'm going to find out why; and if Agito's got anything to do with it, I'll come over and beat him up for you.+_

When Ryan said that, Sho couldn't help but laugh; he was just glad that no one was close enough to hear him. _+Thank you, Ryan, but I really don't think that's going to be necessary.+_

_+Probably not; but it'd definitely be fun.+_

_+I really don't think you should do that Ryan. We've just managed to get to this place and keep ourselves safe from Chronos. If you came here to start a fight, they might be able to find us. What have you, Sean, and the ACTF been doing lately?+_

_+We've gone underground; literally. We're moving to a secured location, Atkins is leading me, Sean, the ACTF, and the refugees from L.A. there.+_

All_ of them?+_ Sho asked, surprised. _+Aren't there a lot of people living in L.A.? I've read that it's a big city.+_

_+There weren't all that many people at the base when we were forced to pull out; either they were picked up by some other division, or… someone else got to them, first.+_

_+I hope they were picked up by another division,+ _he said, not wanting one more innocent person to be subjected to the horrors that Chronos had inflicted on so many others.

_+Yeah; so do I,+ _Ryan said somberly. _+Anyway, we've all been evacuating through these really cool escape tunnels that the ACTF's engineering corps built between their base in L.A. and Cheyenne Mountain, of all places. Atkins says that the place we're actually going to be _staying_ in, he and the rest of the ACTF call it the Alpha Site, is buried deep under NORAD.+_

_+That's great Ryan but, what's Norad?+ _he asked, hearing the younger Guyver's enthusiasm and wanting to know what he was so excited about.

_+It's an acronym; it stands for North American Aerospace Defense Command. I don't quite know what the accommodations down there are going to be like but I think it's a pretty good bet that the ACTF set up something at least reasonably comfortable down there.+_

_+I hope you're right about that, Ryan. And, I hope that none of the Zoanoids had been infiltrating your military found out about the Alpha Site.+ _Sho said, worried for the sake of his friend and the people he was trying to protect.

_+Yeah; so do I,+ _Ryan said, his mental tone conveying the apprehension he felt._ +Still, we've got Aptom with us; that's got to count for something. Sean's here' too. Add me and the ACTF, and we should be able to deal with pretty much anything Chronos tries to throw at us,+_ his fellow Guyver continued, his tone cautiously optimistic.

_+So _that_ was why Aptom was talking about fighting with you and Sean; I was wondering,+_ he said, leaning against the wall he'd been standing beside, out of the way of all the foot-traffic in the base.

_+Sean told me that he was in Japan with you guys, too. Where did you guys end up, just out of curiosity?+_

_+Agito took us to one of his secured bases. The Thunderbolts are very well-trained; Agito did a good job with them.+_

_+Hooray for him,+_ Ryan said, his tone sarcastic in the extreme.

Sho had long since decided not to involve himself in whatever problems that Agito and Ryan were having with each other. The two of them would probably be able to work things out on their own, and he still had to look out for Tetsuro and Mizuki. And now Natsuki, too; at least Agito was with them. Both because Shizu seemed to love him so much, and because Sho wasn't entirely sure that he could have taken on so many Zoanoids alone without risking the lives of his friends. Thinking of Shizu, however, always made him a bit sad lately.

She didn't seem to take very good care of herself; at least, not anywhere nearly as much as she took care of Agito.

_+Ryan, I really have to go now.+_

_+No problem, Sho. I understand; I should be getting back to my people now, too.+_

_+Good luck, Ryan,+_ he said, wishing just for a moment that he had been able to help, somehow.

_+Thanks. And good luck to you, too, Sho.+ _

"Sho! There you are," Mizuki said, smiling at him when she had come over to where he stood. "I was just starting to wonder where you had gotten off to."

"I didn't know you were looking for me," he said, standing back upright as he took Mizuki's hand. "I'm sorry I worried you."

"It's not that, Sho," Tetsuro said, falling into step with him and Mizuki as they began to make their way down the hall. "They've assigned us quarters inside the base now; all in a row, too, so we'll be able to visit each other easier.

"It's even near the Research and Development wing, so Tetsuro's been itching to go down there all day. But, he insisted on coming to find you first. So, here we are," Natsuki said, grinning over at Tetsuro as the four of them made their way to the west wing of the Thunderbolts' Japanese base.

"So, what were you doing while we were all looking for you, Sho?" Mizuki asked.

"Sean contacted me, to ask how we were doing, then Ryan contacted me to ask what Sean and I had been talking about. Then _he_ asked how we were all doing," Sho said, tensing slightly as he remembered the real reason that Sean had contacted him. "They're all right, though. They – the ACTF, Sean, Ryan, and some refugees from Los Angeles – are going to stay under some place called Norad."

"Wait, _NORAD_? As in, the North American Aerospace Defense Command?" Tetsuro demanded.

"I think so," he said, embarrassed over how quickly he had forgotten Ryan telling him just what those letters had stood for, but thinking that Tetsuro's guess had sounded right. "Why?"

"Because NORAD is a military installation. Given the way _our_ military was by Zoanoids, somewhere like NORAD would be a very likely target for Chronos' forces. I've read that they do important work for the military; something to do with the Air Force," Tetsuro explained; Sho only noticed that he'd been biting the inside of his lip when he started tasting blood.

"You mean, all of those people could be walking into another one of Chronos' traps?!" Mizuki demanded sounding and looking every bit as worried as Sho felt at that moment.

"Don't you worry your pretty little head about that," Aptom said, smirking as he strode up to join them as they walked.

"Why do you say _that_, Aptom?" he asked, curious but still worried all the same.

Aptom had sounded so _sure_ about what he was saying; not that he didn't usually sound that way but this time he sounded even more sure of himself. Sho just wanted to know if he had any _real_ cause to worry about all of those people, or if he was over thinking things again, like Ryan said he did sometimes.

"'Cause they've got _me_ with them," Aptom said, his smirk widening into his usual slightly-deranged grin.

"How is that even possible?" Tetsuro asked, stopping in his tracks and staring at Aptom; Sho wondered about that, himself.

"You remember how I flew out to help Sho's red-headed Guyver buddy deal with that new Guyver and that branch of Chronos that wanted us all dead?"

"I remember that you disappeared for awhile, and none of us knew where to look, or even how we could contact you," Mizuki said, looking slightly reproving.

"Well okay, so I _didn't_ tell you where I was going. Who do you think you are, my mother?" Aptom rolled his eyes at Mizuki, then he continued. "Anyway, what I was _trying_ to say was that, when I went to help him deal with Chronos and their Zoanoids over there, I left a few of my clones behind. Some of them were destroyed by that bastard Zoalord, but the rest of them are staying with the refugees to make sure that Chronos doesn't do anything _too_ drastic to them. I'm still hoping to get _some_ food out of the deal, though," Aptom finished, grinning.

"You _would_ be hoping for something like that," Natsuki said, laughing gently at Aptom.

"Wait, you said that _you_ were over there with the refugees, but then you said it was some of your clones," Mizuki said, with the same kind of curiosity that Sho himself felt. "So, which is it?"

"Both."

"What do you mean by _that_, Aptom?" he asked; that explanation had hardly been an explanation at all.

"My clones _are_ me, you little idiot," Aptom said, sounding as annoyed as he ever did when the two of them spoke, then turning and walking away without another word, headed for a destination known only to himself.

Sho wondered, as he left, if the two of them would ever be able to come to a real understanding.


	26. Civilians

They had finally made it to Waystation Seven, and Ryan had spotted Sean and Cori talking over a meal before he'd settled down and started to eat, himself.

The furniture here was all cheap plastic stuff; easy enough to get in large quantities, and not something that anyone would really miss once it had been covered by the chemical mix that the ACTF's tech guys had gotten their hands on.

Kicking his feet out of sheer habit as he listened with less than half an ear to the conversations going on in what pretty much amounted to an underground cafeteria – only without the long tables and benches – Ryan leaned back in his seat as he ate. Beef jerky, nuts, dried fruit, and bottled water weren't things that he would have chosen to eat, but it wasn't like he was being given a whole lot of options at the moment. The only other thing resembling food in this place were various kinds of trail-mix, and Ryan hated trail-mix with a passion.

"Hey, Thunderbolt, mind if we sit?"

Looking up, Ryan was mildly surprised to see the entire group of Hellions standing at his table. "Uh, sure," he said, sweeping his left arm to indicate the empty seats. "Go for it."

"I would never have figured you for the superhero type, you know," Shepherd said, settling down at the table even as he took another drink from the half-empty water bottle in his right hand.

"You know about that, now," he said, unsurprised; taking a bite out of the piece of beef jerky he had in his right hand, Ryan leaned his head on his left as he chewed, wondering where this impromptu conversation was going to go.

"Yeah; they told us all about the Guyver," Shepherd said, tilting his head slightly as his eyes roamed over Ryan's sitting form, as if he was looking for something out of the ordinary. He wasn't going to find it; not unless he looked at Ryan's bare back, anyway. "And the Zoanoids, and even Chronos; those ACTF guys seemed okay with explaining what they were doing and where we were all going while they evacuated us. And here, I thought you were just being secretive for the hell of it. I guess you really _were_ trying to protect us, just like you said."

"Yeah." Another bite, and Ryan paused for breath. "I was."

"I'd like to apologize for throwing you out, the last time we met."

"It's not a problem; you were doing what you thought was best for your people." He left unsaid the fact that he'd been doing the same, and offered only a one-shouldered shrug.

_)You know, you're remarkably easygoing sometimes, kid.(_

_)Only when people don't go out of their way to piss me off.(_

_)Well, that'd go a ways toward explaining the particulars of your relationship with Makashima; that guy can barely go half a day without doing _something_ to piss you off.(_

_)That little ability of his mostly stems from the fact that our old buddy Agito is an arrogant, self-serving asshole, with no sense of humor and the emotional depth of a parking lot puddle. Guys like that just rub me the wrong way, you know?(_

_)I know what you're getting at, kid. I think I've known a few people like that; old man Balkus foremost among them- and I think your new friends are starting to miss your company.(_

Ryan looked back at the Hellions, who were all giving him understanding looks of one sort or another.

"So, what were you and Elegen chatting about?" Gearhead asked, leaning forward with obvious interest.

"They told you that too, huh?" he asked, smirking slightly.

"Given all the things they told us about you, finding out that you had another guy taking up space in your head wasn't really all that weird," Hardfire said, grinning back at him. "At least, not compared to the fact that you have an alien armor suit living inside you. Or, at least a few parts of it, anyway."

"Yeah, that's not really something you see everyday," Sci-fi – for a moment, Ryan wondered what their real names were, then he decided that it wasn't particularly important at the moment – commented, wearing a smirk of his own. "At least, not if you're not reading comics or watching TV."

"Or unless you watch a lot of sci-fi movies," Snakeoil said, winking at his fellow Hellion.

Ryan was quick to join in with the laughter that rippled all around the table, but he was also observant enough to notice who stopped laughing first. Sci-fi was looking at him, the expression on the brunet's face one of open curiosity.

"So, do you think we could talk to him? Elegen, I mean?"

_)What do you think, Snake-head? You want to talk to these guys?(_

_)What would we even talk about?(_

_)I don't know; whatever comes to mind. They seem honestly curious.(_

Closing his eyes, the way he usually did when he and Elegen switched control of his body when they _weren't_ in their usual life-or-death situations, Ryan waited patiently. It took a few moments for Elegen to decide to share at least _some_ of himself with the Hellions, time during which Ryan simply looked as if he had drifted into some sort of daydream, both Sci-fi and Gearhead asked if he was doing all right a couple times.

When Ryan's eyes opened again, they were a bright, blazing yellowish-white; a clear sign to anyone who knew him well that Elegen was currently in control of their shared body.

"You're Elegen, right?" Hardfire asked, peering more closely into Ryan's eyes; though it was clear to him that it wasn't quite _Ryan_ anymore.

"Don't know who else I'd be," the Hyper Zoanoid said, and though he was speaking with Ryan's voice, it was clear that this was someone else entirely. "Look, can we keep this short? I really don't think you kids know just how good those Zoalords are at tracking down strays, and I'd really rather not be personally responsible for turning this escape-tunnel into a killing ground."

"All right, then I'll just ask two questions, and then you can go back to… wherever it is that you spend your time," Shepherd said, his tone amicable. "One: how in the hell did you and Ryan end up sharing headspace like this? And, two: what's a Zoalord, anyway?"

"Zoalords are the highest-ranked Zoaforms that exist, period. There _are_ only twelve of them, but they can sense Zoanoids telepathically. What's worse is that they can also _control_ Zoanoids about as easily as they can sense them. I can usually avoid the second one by giving up control to Ryan here, but I'm still not proof against the first. Which is why I'm going to let the kid himself answer whatever other questions you have," Elegen said, closing Ryan's eyes.

When the redhead's eyes opened once again, they were back to their normal green, a clear sign that Ryan himself was back in control.

"He can be kind of abrupt sometimes, but in this case, I agree with him," Ryan said, as soon as he had regained his composure. "It's really _not_ a good idea, tempting fate by trying to hold a conversation with a Zoanoid down here; no matter _how_ well-hidden you think they are. Fate can be a cruel bitch, sometimes; take it from me, I know," he finished, smirking slightly.

"All right, point taken," Shepherd said, nodding. "Why don't _you_ tell us what it's like sharing your head with that guy 24/7, then?"

"There are times I wish it hadn't happened," he admitted. "The electrical powers are cool and all, but the constant presence of someone else in my head is a little crazy-making, sometimes. It's like having somebody constantly looking over your shoulder, only from the inside. And I can't keep any secrets from the guy, since as of the first time Aptom tried to eat me – I think it was about half a year ago or so – we've shared thoughts. We both decided that this… situation of ours would be kind of a need-to-know thing. Both so I don't end up freaking a lot of people out, and so I don't end up on another one of Chronos' dissection tables," he said, leaning back in his chair as he ate another strip of beef jerky and drank some more water.

"That sounds like a good idea," Shepherd said, eating some of his own food.

Ryan noticed that said food was trail-mix, and valiantly resisted the urge to make a face. "I've come face-to-face with the whole near-vivisection thing; it was only that one time, but that was more than enough for me."

"I'm sure that once would be enough for _anyone_ to go through something like that," Gearhead said, shuddering.

"Well, I _am_ doing my best to make sure that it doesn't happen again," Ryan said, chuckling in slightly morbid good-humor. "But, old Dr. Balkus seems particularly determined to cut me up, for some reason."

"Dr. Balkus? Who the hell is _that_?" Hardfire asked, accompanied by looks of confusion from his fellow Hellions.

"Dr. I-don't-know-his-first-name-but-I'm-sure-it's-something-stupid Balkus is one of the many, _many_ scientists that work for Chronos. Only _he_ does it voluntarily; both cause he's a complete and utter bastard, and because he's one of the Twelve Chronos Overlords."

"What are _those_?" Shepherd asked, then frowned slightly. "Aside from the obvious, I mean. And, what do you mean he does it _voluntarily_?"

The sounds of people being hustled out of their chairs and asked to start moving interrupted their conversation before he could have even started to explain about the virus that all of Chronos' scientists were infected with. Standing back up, Ryan grabbed the last of his beef jerky, shoving it into his mouth as he walked away from the table where they'd all been sitting.

Ripping off a piece as he chewed and swallowed, Ryan turned his attention back to Shepherd and the other Hellions. "I'll tell you about the rest of that later, okay guys?"

"Sure," Shepherd said, waving as Ryan walked past him and the others. "We'll catch up to you later, Thunderbolt."

Waving to the Hellions a last time, Ryan turned and joined a group of ACTF soldiers and some civilian volunteers in helping to strike down the eating area so that the chemicals would be able to cover the signs of human presence easier. Ryan personally thought that that was kind of a stupid idea, since anyone who wanted to find _that_ out would just have to get a look at the cots that had been left behind just inside the Waystation. But, he _had_ agreed to help with the job.

That meant that he was going to do it, no matter _how_ stupid he thought it sounded.

As he helped the soldiers and civilians to take down the tables and chairs, Ryan took stock of his fellow workers. Most of them seemed fairly enthusiastic about the job, but a few of them did look about as dubious as he felt so that was nice to see. Nice to know that he wasn't the only one who didn't really see the point of wasting time like this. Once the tables and chairs had been struck down, he rejoined the ACTF soldiers in his area and started walking again.

Their next destination: Waystation Eight.


	27. Morality

As his Zoanoids dispersed through the site, helping to repair the damage done by the Guyvers, and unfortunately by some of his own Zoanoids as well, Fried'rich van Purg'stall watched their actions through their own eyes. It was good to know that they were giving a good account of themselves to the citizens of Tokyo; doing their part to reverse the damage to the city was an act that was certain to raise their status in the eyes of the Japanese people. Still, even if there had _not_ been any such guarantee, Fried'rich would have done exactly as he was doing now, simply because it was the right thing to do.

Imakarum did not seem to understand the concept of right and ethical actions, only of expediency. Still, even _he_ was not crass enough to openly oppose or countermand the orders that Fried'rich had given. His lack of morals aside, Imakarum Mirabilis was very intelligent; a fact that did not reassure Fried'rich so much as it would have under other circumstances. If Imakarum's loyalty to Lord Alkanphel had not been so clearly absolute… but no, such thoughts about another member of the Council were not only counterproductive, they bordered on treason.

Or, they _would_ have, in the case of any lesser-ranked Zoaform. Zoalords were permitted a great deal more latitude in such matters. Still, the similarities between Imakarum Mirabilis and the late Reholt Gyou were an uncomfortable thought at the best of times. Fried'rich was simply relieved that he would not be forced to deal with the Twelfth Zoalord for awhile yet.

Imakarum seemed to be obsessed with the fact that the First and Third Guyvers had merely gone into hiding to save themselves, as opposed to the Fourth and Fifth Guyvers who had been buried under tones of steel and concrete – buried in _human_ form – and were obviously dead. Imakarum was clearly going to extreme lengths to prepare for the return of the First and Third Guyvers, an admirable objective to be sure, but the man's fervor about killing Sho Fukamachi was slightly unnerving all the same.

Of course, Dr. Balkus' clearly stated desire to vivisect the Fifth Guyver was an uncomfortable thought for the Zoalord of Lightning, as well.

Watching over the activities of his Zoanoids as they performed their duties within and around the cities of Japan, Fried'rich spared a modicum of his attention for what had occurred when Chronos had announced their intentions to the world. He had seen the way that Ingriam Mirabilis had acted when the boy and Lord Alkanphel had arrived at Mt. Ararat. Chronos' Ninth Zoalord had clung to Lord Alkanphel like a lost child, and the fact that Imakarum had refused to do so much had only served to complicate the situation further.

Fried'rich knew that the personal dispute between the Twelfth and Ninth Zoalords was not any of his concern, but when it threatened to cause a disturbance within the ranks of Chronos itself then it became his concern. Seeing that his Zoanoids were working diligently at their appointed tasks, Fried'rich retreated from their minds and re-centered his awareness firmly within his own once more.

While Lord Alkanphel was the only one that Imakarum truly _obeyed_, perhaps he would be willing to listen reason from one of his peers…

Rising from his seat, Fried'rich left the main control center of Chronos Japan's Cloud Gate and walked over to his private elevator at the far end of the room. Imakarum had taken to secluding himself in the lowest of the sub-basement laboratories, almost in the same way that Dr. Balkus had done before he had left for the Mediterranean Section to directly oversee the Ark project.

XxXxX

The pale glow of the processing-tanks before him cast dull green light onto his face and visor as he observed the growth of his new brood of Enzyme IIIs. They had not yet made their debut in Japan, so it would be very interesting indeed to see what kind of damage they would be able to inflict on the two remaining Guyvers. It _was _somewhat troubling that the Fifth Guyver had managed to find – and from there exploit – a weakness within what had at first seemed to be a perfected Enzyme model; but, as he and that annoying Fourth Guyver were dead, Imakarum saw no reason to worry.

The sense of another Zoalord in the laboratory with him alerted Imakarum to the fact that Lord Fried'rich most likely wanted to speak with him. He had not made any moves to hinder the production or deployment of Zoanoids in the Japan Section, so perhaps Lord Fried'rich was merely concerned about him. Turning on his left heel, Imakarum made for a more open area of the laboratory so that he could speak to Lord Fried'rich in more comfort.

Lord Fried'rich stood waiting for him in the main area of this laboratory, and as he strode out from between the long rows of processing-tanks, Imakarum inclined his head respectfully to the Fifth Zoalord. "What brings you down to _this_ level of the sub-basement, Lord Fried'rich?"

"Imakarum, I wish to speak with you about a matter of some import." Looking around at the processing-tanks, filled with half-grown Enzyme IIIs, those that were hibernating, and those that had merely begun to undergo their transformations. "Perhaps in a more private area?"

"Of course," he said, falling into step behind the svelte, silver-haired form of Chronos Japan's commanding Zoalord.

Passing his small army of Enzyme IIIs, an army that he would unleash upon the two remaining Guyvers and their pitiful Lost Number allies once the last of them had fully transformed, he and Lord Fried'rich came within sight of the elevators at the far end of the room. Before he had reached the control pad of the left-side elevator, Lord Fried'rich had pressed the button himself. Stepping inside, Imakarum glanced at the digital readout above the door that indicated their floor number.

It was mildly diverting, to watch the numbers decrease as they left the sub-basement levels and then start to rise again once they were above ground level. Thinking over the latest rumors that he had been hearing when he left the deep sub-basement laboratories to retrieve some food for himself, Imakarum decided that he would take the opportunity to question Lord Fried'rich about these rumors.

Imakarum personally hoped that they were baseless. Such a frivolous use of Zoanoids, while it _would_ make for a very interesting Public Relations stunt, was not exactly the kind of use that Imakarum was convinced that Lord Alkanphel would condone. Provided that the rumors were indeed baseless, Imakarum would be more than pleased to seek out the source of the rumors and _deal_ with them.

The humming of the elevator's motor was beginning to grate on his nerves, but a quick glance at the floor-number revealed that they had almost reached their destination in any case, so Imakarum refrained from commenting.


	28. Repression

The fact that Dr. Balkus had enlisted the services of a great many of his strength-type Zoanoids for work on Chronos' Ark project did not trouble Waferdanos at all; he had, in fact, relished the opportunity to learn more about the Project itself. The Ark was apparently meant to become, by turns, a space-based processing center, a secondary habitat, and perhaps eventually an interplanetary transport ship. Of course, all of _that_ would have to wait until the Ark itself had been fully-grown.

It, like the many plants that he cultivated to remind himself of his old home as well as his previous existence, was a living organism and would therefore require much time and nourishment before it would be prepared to serve its intended purpose.

As Waferdanos continued tending to his various plants, he sensed a mild disturbance from his Zoanoid sentries. It was close enough to this main facility that he decided to investigate the situation personally. His Zoanoids seemed only mildly concerned, so he took it for granted that the situation was a minor one. Exiting the main facility of Chronos Brazil which still functioned as a health spa, while devoid of the façade that it was a human-operated company.

Honestly, the only changes that he had made to the building were the removal of the nameplate on his door with his alias of Walter Daniels, and the opening of the larger laboratories to humans who desired to undergo processing.

His Zoanoids were also permitted to be seen in their natural forms, _without_ any consequences to the humans who saw them. Provided, of course, that the humans did not invite such consequences upon themselves. That was the trouble with humans; sometimes, they could be just as aggressive as any Zoanoid. Lacking most of a Zoanoid's natural advantages, however, they _were_ simpler to deal with.

The perpetually warm, thick, oxygen-rich air of the jungle wrapped around him as Waferdanos left the climate-controlled confines of Chronos Brazil's main compound. The clouds of flying insects ignored him, as per usual, completely uninterested in what flowed through _his_ veins. His Zoanoids were not nearly so fortunate; as he passed the innermost of his sentries, Waferdanos could sense their annoyance with the flying pests.

When he reached the location where a group of sentries had deviated from their assigned patrol routs, he immediately saw the reason for the aforementioned deviation. There were loggers, along with the expected equipment that such people were expected to possess, brazenly making their way into his forest. The very _idea_ of humans attempting to cut down the trees in _his_ forest bordered on the ridiculous, and yet here they were.

They were fools.

"I thought I made it perfectly clear to you humans that there was to be no logging in my forest," he snapped, annoyed that he had to be faced with such dull-witted cretins even _after_ he had taken steps to make them aware of the penalties they would face for trespassing in his territory.

There were many tasks associated with the running of Chronos Brazil, and while his human underlings had proved themselves to be at least reasonably competent, Waferdanos still preferred to personally attend to the running of his facility when it was possible for him to do so. He knew that some of his fellow Overlords preferred to remain apart and unseen, letting their underlings handle the day-to-day operation of their respective facilities, but he himself was not such a one.

"Yeah, we heard about that little ultimatum of yours, old man," the lead human – a man with scraggly brown hair, dark glasses, and a cigar clenched in his teeth – said. "Oh, I'm sorry, your _highness_," the human sneered, as his fellows laughed idiotically. "These trees are worth a lot of money. Rare tropical hardwood, you know."

"Indeed," he said flatly, taking in the group of loggers and their equipment with supreme distain. "Are they worth your lives?"

"I'm sorry, what?" the lead human's expression swiftly became one of confusion; clearly, he was unaware of the danger inherent in provoking a Zoalord.

"It was a very simple question: are these trees of mine worth the lives of you and your fellow humans?"

"What, you mean you're going to kill us all if we don't leave your precious trees alone?" the lead human demanded.

The humans who had chosen to put their lives in the hands of this foolish human started laughing, but Waferdanos' next words shut them up rather quickly.

"Indeed I do."

The battered, twisted, half-destroyed remains of one of their transport vehicles crashed into the ground just in front of them, causing the leader to jerk backwards and the group as a whole to tense. His Zoanoids were really quite proficient when he set them to completing a task; as any proper lesser Zoaform was. Still, while a small percentage of the humans seemed to have been properly cowed by what they had just witnessed, the majority of them seemed to be outraged by it.

_Insignificant half-wits._ What did they _think_ the penalty for provoking a Zoalord's wrath in his own territory would be? Or, were they so foolish as to think that _they_ would be allowed to escape without consequence?

Either way, these humans were about to learn the gravity of their mistakes; whether any of them would survive the lesson was not something that Waferdanos could bring himself to care about.

Ordering the large group of Zoanoids – those that had discovered these humans in the first place, as well as those that he had chosen to call on once he had taken the measure of the humans in his way – to reveal themselves once he had dealt with the leader of these humans; something he was about to do. Closing his right hand around the head of the lead human, his palm muffling the human's screams, Waferdanos tightened his grip as the human struggled and thrashed.

At last, the human's pitiful struggles ceased as his skull collapsed inward, crushing his brain and killing him almost instantly; tossing the headless corpse aside, Waferdanos called to his waiting Zoanoids.

_-Deal with them, will you?-_ he directed, sensing the approaching Zoanoids as they moved in to surround the humans. "I have other duties to attend to."

"With pleasure, Your Excellency," he heard one of his Alcaus say, even as he himself turned around and made his way back to the main facility of Chronos Brazil.

The screams and pleas of dying humans faded behind him as Waferdanos made his way back through the deeper parts of his jungle home. Sensing something just about to impact the left side of his head, he batted the offending object aside and turned to look at what it had been. The object turned out to be a severed human arm; most likely bitten off, given the shearing pattern on the remains of the shoulder joint.

XxXxX

Stepping away from the three processing-tanks, each of which held the transforming shape of a female Zoanoid, Dr. Alonzo Calvari wondered just why Overlord Galenos had chosen _these_ women to become Zoanoids. They had no combat training at all; the three of them were in fact models. One of them, the one who was being processed into a modified version of a Citiciss that had been dubbed Kalythis, was even a pop singer.

He simply didn't understand the aim of doing such a thing.

But then, his job wasn't really to _understand_ what his superiors, Overlord Galenos in particular, asked him to do. His job was simply to ensure that all of the Zoanoid models in this Section, even the stranger ones like those being developed for these three ladies, were in top condition and combat-ready. He'd been transferred to this place, this top-class research station at the bottom of the world, when he'd shown an affinity for research and technical innovation in Zoanoid design.

The Antarctica Section was more of a research outpost than a fully integrated branch of Chronos, and as such they had very few fully-developed Zoanoid models, a great deal of experimental models, some Lost Numbers that were being studied, and a very large staff of research scientists and genetic engineering specialists. That was really the way Dr. Calvari preferred it. He was far more interested in the theory behind Chronos' Zoanoid processing than in actually doing it.

In light of those facts, he honestly didn't understand why _he_ had been tapped for this particular assignment. These Zoanoid models were standard for females: Ranza, Maldu's counterpart; Kalythis, the female variant of Citiciss; and Alderess, Gregole's counterpart. Dr. Calvari wasn't very interested in Standard model Zoanoids, and even less interested in actually _developing_ them.

Still, this was the job he'd been assigned, and Dr. Alonzo Calvari was nothing if not dedicated to his work.

He would get this task done, even in spite of his personal distaste for it. Nothing about what he had been asked to do was in any way distasteful, merely routine and hence rather completely uninteresting. He would have much preferred to work on experimental Zoanoids, even in spite of the amount of Lost Numbers that were inadvertently created, and then dumped into the disposal pits after they had outlived their usefulness.

The final adjustments to these three women were almost finished, and Dr. Calvari would be more than pleased to leave them to their lives from now on.


	29. Persistence

Somewhere between Waystations Eight and Nine, Ryan was walking with Sean, Cori, and Atkins again. They weren't really talking at the moment, having long since fallen silent, but it was a comfortable sort of silence and Ryan wasn't about to be the one to break it. Their mixed group of refugees and ACTF soldiers were probably somewhere under Arizona by now, if not at least a bit farther.

Or, maybe a whole hell of a lot farther.

The Hellions had taken the news about Chronos' special virus just like any group of even halfway-decent people would have: they had all hated the idea. So did he, and all of the rest of the ACTF. Sean and Cori had dropped by while he was talking to them, and Ryan had ended up introducing the two groups.

As it turned out, they'd heard about Sean from the ACTF after they'd been evacuated from L.A. when the Zoanoids were attacking. This in retrospect shouldn't have been nearly as surprising to him as it had been, since they had probably found out about _him_ in just the same way.

In spite of the fact that no one seemed to be talking at the moment, the tunnel they were all making their way through would never really be silent. Not with this many people walking at the same time, and definitely not with walls that had been made out of steel and concrete. The tunnel was essentially one huge, long echo chamber, which really made having most kinds of conversations more trouble than they were worth.

At least, if you didn't happen to have a telepathic link to speak over, anyway.

But, for the moment, Ryan wasn't really in the mood to talk. Telepathically or otherwise. Elegen had understood, at least that was what he'd said before he'd decided to go to sleep. It was kind of weird to know that there was someone asleep in your head, but what Ryan found even weirder was the fact that he didn't find any of that weird at all.

_I guess you really_ can_ get used to anything, if it just keeps happening to you,_ Ryan chuckled, the soft sound covered by the noise of all the people walking. Pulling another pack of beef jerky out of his pocket, Ryan opened it and stuck some of the dried, chewy meat into his mouth. The rumors about the astronaut ice cream had turned out to be true, and that had been really great.

There had only been a limited supply at each Waystation, of course, so he'd only taken one each during the two stops that their group of refugees had made after he'd found out the truth of those rumors.

Of course, _having_ them didn't mean that he was obligated to eat them, at least not right out of the gate the way a lot of people had done. Ryan grinned, brushing his left hand over his left pocket, just opposite the one where his spare beef jerky was stored. Nope, there was really no reason for him to do something like that.

There were two packs of freeze-dried ice cream in that pocket, and he was going to eat them once their group had made it to the last of the Waystations; of course, by then he would have another one. Atkins had said that Waystation Ten was the final stop before they made it to the Alpha Site.

He was just happy to know that he would be able to get out of this cramped, monotone, thoroughly boring tunnel sooner rather than later. He was getting really tired of the place; sure, it protected all of the evacuees from being found by Chronos, and there was also the fact that he hadn't needed to transform once since he'd set foot inside the tunnel to escape with the rest of the evacuees. Still, the sameness of the tunnel, to say nothing of the Waystations themselves, was starting to wear on his nerves.

The sound of annoyingly cheerful whistling, getting more and more annoyingly cheerful as the person doing the whistling came closer, let Ryan know just who he was about to be dealing with. "Aptom, do you think it's remotely possible for you _not_ to make a pest of yourself at every possible opportunity."

"It might be," the Zoanoid-eater said, gleefully shoving his way to the front of the group. "But not when I'm this bored and _definitely_ not when I'm this hungry. It's been more than a month since I last ate; the _least_ you could have done was let me drag along some of those tasty little meals on legs for this trip you dragged us all on," the last part of Aptom's rant was obviously directed at Atkins, a fact made all the more obvious by the scathing glare that the Lost Unit leveled at the leader of the ACTF.

"You're already aware of why that wouldn't have been possible," Atkins stated flatly.

"That doesn't mean I can't still complain about it," Aptom said, grinning.

Ryan guffawed. "You know, the guy's got a point. Admittedly, it's the one at the top of his head, but- Ow!" this last exclamation was in response to Aptom's fist smacking him right on the crown of his skull.

"Watch your mouth, Red," the Zoanoid-eater growled good-naturedly. "I might not be up to my usual standards, but I can still give _you_ a good thrashing."

"_Sure_ you could," Ryan drawled, smirking. "You might not remember this, but _I'm_ still a Guyver."

"Knock it off, you two," Cori said, stepping between the Lost Unit and the Guyver before they could do anything more than exchange taunts. "The _last_ thing we need is a fight breaking out down here."

"Whatever," Aptom said, shrugging with the utmost unconcern.

Ryan just kept walking, a smirk still on his face. Peeling open another pack of jerky, Ryan stuck it in his mouth and deliberately chewed it in front of the hungry Zoanoid-eater. Said Zoanoid-eater, in turn, deliberately ignored him. All in all, the arrangement worked out rather well for all concerned.

XxXxX

Pamela Starr Madden, known as Pam to the many friends that she had made since the day her life truly began, stared in annoyance at the weighted bag in front of her. It swung back and forth slowly, as if mocking all her efforts. She had been trying to learn technique to perform a spin-kick at the hanging bag in front of her, and so far she had managed to had managed to fail every single time; sometimes pretty spectacularly.

It was very frustrating.

"You should really tighten up your stance."

Pam turned, looking back over her right shoulder at a black-haired, athletic woman in a blue jumpsuit. "Here, let me show you how it's done."

The woman stepped up to the hanging bag, demonstrating a perfect spinning kick.

"I don't think I could ever be as good at this as you are, Sharru."

"Of course you can," the lady Zoanoid said, giving Pam a reassuring smile. "It's just going to take a little practice. Maybe a bit more than usual, considering where we found you, but it _will_ happen if you just keep working at it."

Pam winced slightly, remembering again just where and how Sharru and her group of lady Zoanoids had found her.

Billy, Burt, Henry, and Rick had just managed to get themselves another girl, and they had been just about to start "breaking her in", as they called it. Their new girl had been an athletic redhead; she had also been one of Sharru's fellow lady Zoanoids: a tiger-looking lady named Ranza. A fast spin-kick from Ms. Ranza had left Billy on the floor, holding his crushed throat and coughing up blood.

When Burt, Henry, and Rick had pulled out their guns and tried to shoot her for that, Ms. Ranza had changed into her Zoanoid form. With the addition of sharp fangs and even sharper claws, Ms. Ranza had made short work of Henry. She had pretty much mauled him into submission; Henry had barely been recognizable when Ms. Ranza had finished with him.

And all while she had still been dodging bullets.

That was when Ms. Cassica and Ms. Sharru herself had shown up. Ms. Cassica had killed Burt quickly, firing toxic spines from her lower arms straight into his throat. Rick had tried to get the drop on Ms. Ranza from behind, but she had managed to surprise everyone watching when she had dove _backwards_ through Rick's legs, punched him hard enough to drive her fist _through_ his body, and then actually _decapitated_ him with a single spin-kick.

All the while, Ms. Sharru had been gathering the other girls and shepherding them out of the warehouse. While the other lady Zoanoids had been dealing with the other… people that Pam had once worked with Ms. Sharru had taken Doris and the rest of the girls out to a truck parked close to the back of the warehouse. After that, they all been taken to this Chronos base.

The other girls, 'Xantha and Doris in particular were still too sick to leave the medical wing. Pam herself had only recently managed to recover enough to be released, having been admitted for detox and borderline-malnutrition along with the rest of the girls. Pam still spent time with her friends down in the medical wing, but the vast majority of her time was spent either in the gym, in the cafeteria, or on the indoor track-and-field course.

Pam wanted nothing more than to become a lady Zoanoid herself; to be strong enough to protect people like she had once been, people who couldn't protect themselves, from slime like her former "employers".


	30. History

Kenji had seemed stable enough, though still saddened by Masaki's refusal to contact him. Still, Alkanphel had opted to stay with his youngest Zoalord. He knew that Kenji's moods could be rather mercurial at times. Sadness could turn to anger in an instant, and it would not do to have him slaughter a large number of his human staff simply because they were too stupid to avoid setting him off.

Tuarhan, Fried'rich, and Shin had all expressed the opinion that Kenji was too unstable to retain his high position within Chronos; however, given a proper, calming influence, the youngest of his Zoalords was really quite productive. His eagerness to please, to prove his worth to those that he loved, made him very dedicated to any task that Alkanphel chose to set before him. Kenji's loyalty was also easily secured, and with smaller gestures than would have been necessary with any other Zoalord.

None of the other members of the Council, not even Hamilcal or Masaki, would have been satisfied with such a simple thing as having their hair stroked, or being given a new stuffed animal to play with. Kenji's needs were simple and finite; now if only Masaki would _understand_ that…

Thinking about Masaki in situations such as this was not conductive to resting, however, and so Alkanphel put his loyal-but-stubborn Zoalord of Gravity out of his mind.

The day had passed with a flurry of activity on the part of Kenji and his loyal Zoanoids; their sole remaining task to secure control over this Section was to hunt down the remaining insurgents.

Something that Kenji had taken to rather enthusiastically. He had even gone so far as to personally lead his troops during those selfsame hunts, though Alkanphel had managed to convince the young Zoalord not to do such things when they were not strictly necessary. He had also taken the time to explain to Kenji that it was _not_ necessary for him to lead combat missions personally unless the humans were truly a valid threat to his forces. Extracting a promise from the youngest of his Zoalords that he would abide by that was simple, and now the child was resting.

Alkanphel himself was resting as well, holding Kenji the way Masaki had done so often while the two of them had been on the run from Chronos. Thoughts of Masaki, however, brought up the inevitable question of what he would do if his loyal Twelfth Zoalord had not yet realized his error by the time he needed to hibernate once more. True, Kenji had five Hyper Zoanoids who were as close to him as brothers, but even the best of brothers could not replace a father.

Alkanphel knew this from personal experience, and he would _not_ see another child abandoned by a beloved parent. Especially when both parent and child were so close to him. Masaki and Kenji were _his_; his children, his Zoalords, and he would not simply stand by and watch as they destroyed themselves.

He knew, better than anyone, that even in spite of his well-feigned indifference toward the Council's youngest Zoalord, Masaki did in fact care deeply for Kenji. He felt his son's pain almost as keenly as he did his own, this much had been very clear whenever he would speak to Masaki about his son. However, in his own way, Masaki was just as mentally fragile as Kenji.

His loyal Twelfth Zoalord needed to feel that he was necessary, and he genuinely believed that Kenji – as the Zoalord of Wind and the Overlord of the Africa Section – simply did not need him anymore. Even a single visit to the Africa Section would have disabused him of that utterly foolish notion, but Masaki was too afraid of having his own suspicions confirmed to even _contact_ Kenji.

Masaki had never openly admitted to being afraid, of course, but the tension that he could feel radiating from Masaki's body and mind whenever they had spoken about Kenji had been obvious to one who knew him so well. Combined with the fact that Masaki could not shield his thoughts from the Zoalord of Zoalords, and the fact that he was far too loyal to lie outright, that made it all the more simple for him to know Masaki's true motives.

_-Alkanphel?-_

_-Kenji? You should be asleep right now, little one. You will still have your duties to attend to tomorrow, and it would be far better for you if you were rested beforehand.-_

_-I think I am asleep; my eyes are closed.-_

_-Hamilcal has told me that mental activity continues even when the body is sleeping,-_ he said, subtly checking Kenji's body with his telepathy to ascertain that the youngest of his Zoalords was indeed still asleep. As it turned out, he was indeed, though he had yet to start dreaming. _–Very well, then. What did you wish to talk to me about, Kenji?-_

_-Well, I kind of got mad at one of my scientists today. One of them called me- I think it was "jumped-up little brat". Anyway, it sounded really insulting, so I threw him out the window.-_

_-Where were you when you threw him, Kenji? Which story?-_

_-The 75__th__, just like last time.-_

_-What did you do with the other scientists? And, what do you mean, "just like last time"?-_

_-Oh, that was awhile ago.-_

_-Tell me what happened then, Kenji,-_ Alkanphel said sternly.

_-Well, it was back when I first took over this place cause Mr. Krumeggnik was dead.-_ Alkanphel felt a slight twinge of annoyance at the mention of his former, traitorous Ninth Zoalord, but such things had nothing to do with Kenji and so Alkanphel chose not to focus on them. _-Anyway, one of the scientists who really seemed to like Mr. Krumeggnik a lot came up and started talking to me. He was really nice, at first, but when I told him that _I_ was the new Overlord and that Mr. Krumeggnik was dead, he started yelling at me and calling me names. I told him to shut up, but he just kept yelling. Then, when he insulted Dad, I just picked him up by the head and threw him out the window.-_

_-A fitting punishment, Kenji,- _he said._ -What did you do with the other human; the one who insulted you yesterday?-_

_-Oh, him? I smashed his head against one of the computers until it cracked. His head, I mean; not the computer.-_

_-Kenji,- _Alkanphel sighed softly, mildly exasperated at the overreaction that his youngest Zoalord had displayed._ -You know that the computers are very delicate. They are not meant to be used for enforcing punishments.-_

_-I'm sorry. Are you mad at me?-_

_-No, Kenji, I am not angry with you. However, I certainly hope you remembered to page the janitorial staff when you left the room. Human blood will doubtless have an adverse effect on the operation of your equipment.-_

_-I called them before I left; they said they'd be right over.-_

_-Good. I'm pleased that you remembered to attend to your facility, the way that Hamilcal taught you.-_

_-Yeah; I wouldn't want to make _him_ mad at me. He's scary.-_

_-While I will allow that Hamilcal can be rather harsh at times, Kenji, you truly have nothing to fear from him.-_

Kenji shifted in his sleep even as Alkanphel spoke, rolling over onto his curling up within Alkanphel's embrace once more.

_-I know that he wouldn't really _hurt_ me, but he still scares me. He just… does.-_

Running his fingers through Kenji's fringe and across the young Zoalord's brow, Alkanphel considered the child's words. _-Why does he frighten you so, Kenji?-_

_-He's just so… cold. It's like he doesn't have any feelings at all. Even Mr. Yentsui, Uncle Waferdanos, and Mr. Lord Caerleon are nicer than him. But… Mr. Lord Caerleon's not really all that nice.-_

The last part of Kenji's sentence sounded like the mental equivalent of a whisper; as if the child was afraid that the subjects of their conversation would somehow be able to overhear him. Such a thing was, of course, completely impossible. Still, it was not often that he could convince Kenji to speak about his fellow Zoalords.

He had not been expecting the young Zoalord to be so frightened of Hamilcal. That Kenji thought his Second Zoalord emotionless was not so surprising; Hamilcal was not one for such displays of emotion as his Ninth Zoalord was prone to.

_-I suppose that Hamilcal _would_ seem that way to you, Kenji. Still, I assure you that you are in no danger from him.-_

_-That's good,-_ Kenji said, still sounding slightly apprehensive; a feeling that the Supreme Zoalord wished to relieve him of quickly. _-Alkanphel?-_

_-Yes, Kenji?-_

_-Are really sure that Dad still wants to see me? I mean, I really don't think he could be _that_ busy all the time. It- it's not that I think you're lying or anything, Alkanphel, but I run this place and I'm not really that busy, and Uncle Waferdanos told me that Dad doesn't even have a territory, like I do. So, is- is he really busy, or is Dad just staying away because he doesn't want me anymore?-_

The raw pain in Kenji's mental voice tore at Alkanphel's heart; he knew that his youngest Zoalord was not going to respond well to deflections or false reassurances at this point. Still, the Supreme Zoalord knew well how damaging the truth about Masaki's response to him would be to Kenji, and so he decided that he would give the youngest of his Zoalords something to strive for: the very thing that he himself strove for, in fact.

_-Kenji, I have not shared this secret with anyone; not even Hamilcal knows the entirety of this story.-_

_-What story?-_

_-Have you been told about the Advents yet, Kenji?-_ he asked, wanting to know if the young Zoalord had the proper background to understand his tale, or if he would be required to elaborate.

_-I think Mr. Yentsui told me about them, once. Aren't they the ones who made the first Zoanoids, when they came here?-_

_-Yes,-_ he said, pleased to hear that Kenji was so well informed._ -And not only that, the Advents are the ones who created all life on Earth. Even myself; they left not soon after, for reasons that I remember quite well. That is why I will not forgive the Guyvers for what they have done.-_

_-You mean, it was a _Guyver_ that made the Advents leave?-_

_-Yes,-_ Alkanphel said, remembering just exactly what had happened when his former masters had performed their ill-fated experiment. _-It was the first Guyver ever created; that is all I wish to say on the matter. And, I must ask you not to speak about this to anyone else.-_

_-Okay, I won't talk about this to anyone but you.-_

_-Thank you, Kenji,-_ he said, smoothing back Kenji's hair as he continued to hold the young Zoalord in his sleep. _-I will not let the Advents forget me, however. I intend to find them, so that I may demand an explanation for their treatment of me. And, Kenji?-_

_-Yeah?-_

_-While Masaki had not truly abandoned you, as the Advents have me, you also should not let him forget you, either.-_

_-But, how do I do that?-_

_-Kenji, let me explain something to you: it is our strength that will make them care for us. When we prove our strength, that will be what makes them see us for who we truly are. Now, I know that you draw your strength from others, but there _are_ many of your subordinates that can be trusted in that respect.-_

_-But, you said that I shouldn't go out and lead hunting missions myself,-_ Kenji replied, clearly confused.

_-Yes, and you should not. You are a Zoalord, Kenji, and thus should not concern yourself with such things as these minor insurgencies.-_

_-But, then how am I supposed to show Dad how strong I am if I don't go out and fight?-_

_-There are other ways for you to prove your strength than to fight on the front lines. As a member of the Council, the competent administration of your territory is a far better way to prove your strength to Masaki than merely killing a group of humans, no matter their numbers. Now settle yourself, Kenji. It will be morning soon, and you will feel much better if you have rested mentally in addition to physically beforehand.-_

_-Okay.-_

_-I will see you again in the morning, Kenji,-_ he said, to relieve the spike of uncertainty that he had felt from the youngest of his Zoalords.


	31. Travels

They'd all made it to the last of their stops along the escape tunnel, now; they were all standing inside Waystation Ten. Ryan, having finished the two packs of freeze-dried ice cream that he'd been carrying with him from the previous two Waystations – and collected one more along the way – was helping to break down the sleeping area at the back of the Waystation.

He couldn't help but notice that the soldiers were packing up the bedding and stuffing it into duffel bags. Duffel bags that were just barely large enough to fit the sleeping bags and blankets from this particular Waystation. _Come to think of it though, I've been seeing a lot of soldiers carrying those duffle bags. More of them than when we started this trip anyway._

_)I guess they just know that there's no point wasting good bedding.(_

_)You know, you've got a point there, Snake-head.(_

Something smacked Ryan on the back of the head then, braking his concentration before he could hear Elegen's reply.

"Aptom!" a woman's voice – one that took him a couple seconds to peg as Cori's – shouted.

When the Zoanoid-eater turned to grin insouciantly at Cori, letting his attention drift away from Ryan for those few crucial moments, he turned and kicked Aptom's right leg with all the force that he could muster. When Aptom stumbled, his balance as compromised as Ryan could make it, he smashed what would have – under other circumstances – been a bone-breaking uppercut into the Zoanoid-eater's chin.

As Aptom's malleable body lacked bones under normal circumstances, his head bent backward at an otherwise-unnatural angle, while the lower part of his chin folded like a crumpled paper cub on Ryan's fist. Stepping back slightly as Aptom struggled to regain his half-destroyed balance, Ryan grinned as he heard Sean snickering.

"That's what you get, scarface."

"Red, you have just _officially_ pissed me off," Aptom growled, though the look on his face suggested that he needed to blow off steam just as much as Ryan did.

"All right, that's enough!" John Kelly shouted, firmly interposing himself Ryan and Aptom before they could actually get into it with each other.

"Move it, soldier-boy," Aptom drawled, smirking. "I've got some unfinished business with that little cretin."

"From what I saw, _you_ were the one who provoked him in the first place, shape-shifter," Captain Kelly ground out. "Ryan was well within his rights to attack you like that."

"Thanks _so_ much," Ryan said, rolling his eyes just before Captain Kelly looked over at him.

The brunet ACTF soldier nodded gruffly to him, then went back to packing up the bedding in their section of the Waystation. Ryan knew that the only reason that ol' Cap Kelly had taken his side over Aptom's was because, by his lights, Aptom wasn't worth his protection; being something other than human and all. Ryan himself didn't fare much better, and really the only reason Kelly had bothered to step in in the first place was because he was one of their two allied Guyvers.

Ryan knew all of this; that was why he wasn't going to waste his time trying to strike up a conversation between them. Well, that and the fact that Cap Kelly could be aggressively boring when he put his mind to it. He would have been perfectly happy _not_ to have to deal with the man any more than he actually had to.

The bedding had been all pack up now, as far as Ryan could see, when he heard Atkins' signal to start moving out again. Zipping up the duffel he'd been stuffing bedrolls and sheets into, he picked it up and was just about to sling it over his left shoulder when someone else grabbed the strap right out of his hand.

"What're you doing?" he asked, turning to look back over his shoulder at whoever it was that had just taken the duffel he'd just finished with.

"No sense having someone like you doing manual labor," the soldier said, grinning at him.

It took a few seconds for Ryan to remember just who he was talking to, the near-endless sea of faces seemed to blend into each other if he didn't make a conscious effort to separate them, but he'd soon recognized the man walking beside him. It turned out to be Sergeant Charles Cobb; one of the people that he'd gotten closer to than just saying "hey" to across a crowded lunchroom.

"Hey, Chuck. Nice to see you again."

"Especially now, yeah?" the Sergeant said, offering Ryan a sidelong, wry grin.

"Why'd you say that?"

"Well, you _were_ just forced to deal with Mr. Personality back there," Cobb said, with a casual wave in the Captain's direction. "I figure someone like you would be just as happy _not_ to have to deal with that guy."

"You're probably right," he conceded, falling into step with Cobb as their mixed group of soldiers and displaced civilians continued on their way through the tunnel. "I mostly just ignore him, though. Saves me the trouble of thinking up creative ways to get back at him later."

The Sergeant guffawed after he'd made that statement, giving Ryan a hearty slap on the back. "That definitely sounds like you, Red."

Ryan chuckled, continuing to keep pace with the soldiers as they all made their way away from Waystation Ten. At this point, he just wanted to get to the Alpha Site so that he could lay down and not have to get up for at _least_ a couple days, if not a full week. He was so sick of getting up and walking _every single day_ that he could just puke.

But now, now that he could be sure that the end of their long journey was finally in sight, he was starting to feel at least a bit better about things. There seemed to be a lot of people who felt the same as he did, judging from the snippets of conversation he'd been catching lately. He wasn't really in the mood to _participate _in any of said conversations, but the tone he'd heard was generally favorable.

_Everyone_ was happy to be getting out of these damned tunnels.


	32. Announcement

As it was beginning to become dark, Edward Caerleon had allowed his remaining human staff members to leave for the night. They were not generally suited for such long hours, lacking the greater endurance that his Zoanoids possessed as a matter of course. Humans, while of some use when designing or becoming Zoanoids, were not the sort of creatures that Edward preferred to associate with.

Now, with only his Zoanoid workforce occupying Chronos' stronghold in the United Kingdom, Edward considered once more the course of events after X-Day had _truly_ united the world. Having humans who were fully willing to become Zoanoids was a surprise – a pleasant one, yes, but no less surprising – to the Sixth Zoalord. Still, with the departure of the humans, he was free to consider other matters.

He had been briefed about the Ark project by Dr. Balkus himself, and he was rather interested in the gains – far in the future, yes, but time was of little consequence to a Zoalord – promised by such a thing.

Imakarum had later presented him with the breeding manifest of a creature that had been named Enzyme III; clearly, Dr. Balkus' efforts to produce a perfected model of Guyver-killer proceeded apace. Still, it seemed as if this particular model was a rather short-lived one, only lasting two years under ideal conditions. It could still prove to be rather useful, to have such powerful enforcers in his Section; in the event that pockets of resistance were to emerge in his own territory.

Even now, there were still some humans who had not yet realized the futility of resisting Chronos; some of them had even been so foolish as to attempt to attack his Zoanoids who had chosen to seek employment outside of Chronos itself. It would not endear his Zoanoids to the general public if they were seen attacking unprocessed humans; even in spite of the fact that the humans were the aggressors in this case, due to the sheer disparity in strength between humans and his own Zoanoids. So, perhaps it _would_ better serve his interests to have a method of making those irritating humans disappear without fuss or inconvenient questions.

Of course, developing those particular models would require a more stringent candidate-selection process than usual. Particularly since Edward was not inclined to waste any of his elite, highly-trained Hyper Zoanoid candidates by submitting them to processing that would not only reduce their lifespan to a mere two years, but would also reduce the humans themselves to feral, nearly-mindless beasts. Other humans would, therefore, need to be selected to become his private force of Enzyme IIIs.

They would need to be without ties to the people of this city; one more thing to add to the selection criteria.

However, there _was_ a rather large population of vagrants in this very city. Very few people seemed to care what happened to them, making the idea even more attractive. Also, since the health of the human in question would count for very little in light of the Enzyme III's hyper-accelerated metabolism, there was no reason for Edward to restrict his search to healthy candidates.

It would, in fact, be _more_ prudent to select humans that had either been forgotten by society or those that were expected to die within a short time. Hospitals, hospices, and homeless shelters would be an excellent place to begin the search for his Enzyme III candidates. Of course, there would still be the matter of concealing the true purpose of his search from the humans, as they were not particularly likely to support such an endeavor.

It was a precious few humans who could truly comprehend expediency.

XxXxX

The last of the hydraulic doors slammed shut behind them, sealing off the path back to Waystation Ten, and Sean smiled. They would reach the Alpha Site in about twenty minutes, according to everything Atkins had said. Ryan had been getting a bit antsy lately, culminating in him punching Aptom in the face; though it had seemed that the Zoanoid-eater had wanted that fight as much as Ryan himself had. Ryan _had_ gotten a lot better once they were out of Waystation Ten and well on their way to the Alpha Site, though.

Sean was pretty sure he knew why Ryan had been acting that way.

Hell, the unending sameness of the escape tunnels was starting to get to _him_, and he'd been putting a lot of effort into not thinking about just where they all were. Sean was starting to wonder just what this mysterious Alpha Site would be like, and just how long all of their refugees were going to have to stay there.

Chronos couldn't possibly be able to keep control of the world forever; maybe when it was safe, all of these people would be able to go back to their homes and at least _try_ to rebuild the lives they'd all had before Chronos had made their move and destroyed everything in their path.

Sean just wanted to get to the Alpha Site and get all of the civilians settled so that he and Ryan could start up their attacks on Chronos again. As they passed what was obviously another set of hydraulic doors, several sets of them in fact, Sean got the feeling that their long journey was just about to come to an end. A feeling that was confirmed by Lieutenant Colonel Atkins' next words.

"Everyone, welcome to the Alpha Site," Atkins paused for about a minute to let the cheering die down to the point where he could actually be heard over it. "I know you're all happy to hear about this, but there are a few things that I have to make clear before we settle in, so if you'll all make sure that no one's standing in the way of the doors, we can get them closed and then I can start briefing you people about what your lives are going to be like from here on in. Make no mistake, while we may be out of harm's way, the enemy is not very far from us. Given what I saw on the day Chronos attacked, I highly doubt that there is any location outside this mountain that hasn't been overrun by Zoanoids." There were looks of worry on the faces of all the people that Sean could see clearly, and as the last of the doors leading into the escape tunnel closed for the final time, Sean saw Atkins take a deep breath before once more activating the megaphone that he'd been using to address the massed crowd of refugees. "But, that _does not_ mean that our situation is hopeless! It just means that we might have to wait a while before we can take our world back. And we _will_ take it back!"

More cheering, louder this time. "Allow me to introduce you to some of the people who are going to make that possible: the two young men on my left are Ryan Crouger and Sean barker. They're Guyvers; what that means in that they're not only capable of fighting Zoanoids on equal terms, but they can and _will_ overpower them. The man standing to my right is Aptom; his story's a bit different, but he's still as dangerous to them as either of our Guyvers." Sean could see Aptom's amused smirk in response to that statement. "As for the soldiers who brought you here, they are the Anti Chronos Task Force, and they're here to protect you. I'm their field commander: Lieutenant Colonel Aiden Atkins. Feel free to come to me with any questions you might have after the briefing. Now, the following rules are not negotiable, and will be in effect until we have managed to establish ourselves within the Alpha Site, and most likely until we are able to establish a secondary base of operations with which to strike back at Chronos. Rule one: no one is to leave the any time, or for any reason. We're going to have a lot of work to do before we can get settled in, so this rule should be fairly easy to follow."

Sean saw Atkins cover the mouthpiece of the megaphone he'd been using. "This applies to you too, Aptom. No "unscheduled hunting trips"; and I want you to stay away from the pipes and ductwork." The crowd had shifted to block out his view of Aptom, but Sean would have been willing to bet good money that the Zoanoid-eater wasn't happy to hear that. "I'm not kidding; I _will_ find a way to restrain you if I have to," Atkins' tone was forceful, and Aptom at least _seemed_ to be considering what the Lieutenant Colonel was saying…

"Fine; whatever. Just stop bothering me."

Or, maybe not.


	33. Humanity

His army of Enzyme IIIs was nearing completion – even the new additions, gathered from dissenters against Chronos' rule, and the unneeded people in this city – and Imakarum was becoming impatient to put them to work; to have them seek out the headquarters of Agito Makashima's rebel faction and annihilate them. However, Imakarum knew that he would need better intelligence on said rebel faction before he would be able to act against them in any meaningful way. He knew that he would have to be patient, but it wore on him whenever he thought about it.

The fact that those selfsame rebels were more than likely sheltering Sho Fukamachi himself only made Imakarum all the more eager to be rid of them once and for all.

He had, by this time, managed to resign himself to the existence of Jukadan: the Zoanoid boy band that Lord Fried'rich had created to entice young women – and certain young men as well – to join Chronos and support Lord Alkanphel's glorious cause. Imakarum had even heard, through the unofficial channels that were a fixture of all Chronos facilities of this size, that Lord Tuarhan had also created his own group of Zoanoid musicians. It seemed that they were meant as a female counterpart to Jukadan; their name was some French phrase that Imakarum couldn't be troubled to remember at the moment.

For the moment however, Imakarum was absorbed in another one of Lord Fried'rich's Public Relations stunts.

A fashion show for female Zoanoids; that was what Lord Fried'rich himself had called it. The true intent however seemed to be more on the order of a beauty contest. Particularly in light of the fact that the contestants – as Zoanoids – would not be wearing any clothes.

At the moment however, Imakarum was dealing with his least favorite group of people: over-emotional human females. He would have much preferred to deal with fanatical anti-Chronos zealots, or a group of anti-Zoanoid bigots; at least then he could have killed them and spared himself a great deal of annoyance. However, these women were civilians, and no one in Chronos could be seen murdering civilians. At least, not without a Guyver attack to cover the true cause of their deaths.

Finding himself almost _wishing_ for a Guyver attack, Imakarum quickly abandoned that line of thought. To even consider such a thing verged on treason, and he would never betray Lord Alkanphel in such a manner. Being surrounded by all of these hormone-addled females must have been affecting him to a far greater degree than he had been aware of at first, if he had even been entertaining such thoughts, even for so short a time.

Just as he was about to request a Hyper Zoanoid presence in the room, to relieve him of the tedious duty of supervising these females as they worked to create their Zoanoid forms, Imakarum paused for a moment as he noticed something.

"Please remove your hand from my posterior." _Before I break your fingers._ This was directed at a young, impudent female who he had just noticed. To his severe annoyance, all that his admonition managed to make this particular human female do was to giggle softly and move her hand slightly upwards.

"You know, you'd be a lot more approachable if you'd stop being so uptight all the time."

As much as he hated to use the memory of his dear, beloved Miaka for something so trivial, it seemed as if that would be the only way to get this irritating woman to leave him alone. "I'm married," he said flatly, turning away to monitor the rest of the room once more.

"Well, you know, what your wife doesn't know won't hurt anyone," she said.

Turning with an almost audible snap, Imakarum pinned the infuriating human female with a scathing glare from behind his blank, reddish-black visor. "You did _not_ just say that."

Turning and leaving before she could say anything else, anything that would make him angry enough to risk Chronos' public image by killing her, Imakarum snarled under his breath. The sooner he could get away from this gaggle of aggravating humans the happier he would be. However, for now he would have to continue supervising them.

It was a far simpler matter to deal with the scientists, since threatening to cut off their supply of anti-viral would silence them quickly; however, as to unprocessed humans…

_Perhaps Kenji would-_ but no, Kenji had his own territory now, and he did not need his father constantly hovering over him. He was not even Kenji anymore, not in any real sense. Ingriam Mirabilis was the Overlord of the Africa Section, the ruler of every lesser Zoaform in that area. He most certainly didn't need Imakarum hanging over him while he did his work.

No matter _what_ Lord Fried'rich said.

Watching the other human females as they continued to work with the scientists to design their new Zoaforms, he folded his arms and tried to make himself as unapproachable as possible. He couldn't quite make himself stop thinking about Kenji, however. If what Lord Fried'rich had said was indeed true, then Kenji might still need him after all.

The fact remained, however, that Lord Alkanphel himself was staying in the Africa Section for the moment. However, the fact also remained that Lord Alkanphel would most likely need to return to Silha soon because of his "sleeping sickness". And, if Kenji did indeed still need his companionship as Lord Fried'rich had stated, then once Lord Alkanphel could no longer stay with him…

Perhaps he should pay a visit to the Overlord of the Africa Section; but not when he was currently needed to act as an overseer for these humans while they were within Cloud Gate. Lord Fried'rich had asked him to take care of this task for him, and in deference to Lord Fried'rich's demonstrated loyalty to Lord Alkanphel's cause, he would carry it out.

Evenin spite of his pronounced distaste for those he was being asked to deal with.


	34. Alpha

They'd set to work in the greenhouses awhile ago, though the idea of underground greenhouses was still a novel one for Cassie. But then, so was the idea of the entire world being taken over by shape-changing monsters in a single day, and that had actually _happened_. Cassie figured, compared to something that big, something that _strange_, underground greenhouses weren't quite so weird after all.

The greenhouses weren't just meant to supply food to the people staying in the Alpha Site – which some people had started calling Angel Canyon despite the obvious fact that it was completely underground – they were also meant to help keep the air clean. Of course, they weren't the only methods in place to keep the air clean and breathable down in this huge underground shelter that the ACTF had carved out for the people who had once lived in and around L.A. to live in while those monsters were in control. Cassie herself had begun training to repair and service the air purifiers throughout the many rooms in the Alpha Site.

Of course, she liked working with plants, too, so she hadn't and wouldn't pass up any chance to work in the greenhouses. And now here she was, planting crops and turning over soil; and occasionally compost, as well, and all while being careful not to kill any of the earthworms or other insects that lived in the soil.

There were times that living down in the Alpha Site could make Cassie feel like she'd stepped into an Amish commune, but then she would look up and see an air purifier – or a bank of lights like the one she was currently working under – and then she'd remember that it wasn't some idyllic farm that she was working on, but the largest and most secret – not to mention complex – refugee camp on the face of the Earth.

The constant presence of ACTF soldiers did its fair share of helping her to remember that, too.

Cassie knew that the soldiers of the ACTF were planning something, well pretty much everyone did, but she was one of the ones who knew what it was they were planning. None of the soldiers were content to just lay back and hide underground while Chronos and its army of Zoanoids ruled the world. They had contacts up in NORAD, and Aptom was both their messenger and their secret weapon.

The shapeshifter, able to ooze through the smallest pipe or crawl undetected through the narrowest air-vent, was acting as the go-between for the ACTF and the scientists who'd turned against Chronos up in NORAD.

Thinking of the scientists, those poor men and women who'd been infected with a cancer-mimicking virus to make sure that they all stayed loyal to Chronos, Cassie felt another deep swell of mixed pity and hatred. The pity was for the scientists, of course, and the hatred for Chronos. Whatever they thought they were doing, turning innocent people into genetically engineered horrors and subjecting the very people who worked for them to a process that effectively enslaved them, Chronos was evil and needed to be stopped.

That was why Cassie was doing her part to help the ACTF store and maintain the weapons that Aptom and the rebel scientists smuggled in. That was why she worked in the greenhouses and helped to maintain the air-purifiers. And _that_ was why she was going to formally join up with the ACTF as soon as the next recruitment drive came around.

Chronos _wasn't_ going to get away with all of the horrible things that they had done to so many people, not while Cassie was alive and could do something about it.

"Hey, Cass!" a male voice broke into her reverie. "Your shift's over, and it looks like you could use some food. Why don't you take off? We can handle things here."

"Thanks, Marco," Cassie said, looking at her watch. As it turned out, her shift had ended a good five minutes ago. "I think I will head down to the main commissary to get some food. Thanks for coming, Marco. I'd have probably kept working until lights-out if you hadn't come to get me."

"Yeah, I know," Marco said, laughing softly. "Go on; Jake's probably waiting for you."

"Very funny," Cassie drawled, already making her way out of the greenhouse.

Marco's laughter followed her.

XxXxX

It was the smell that got to her; the sharp smell of oil and metal and gunpowder. A dangerous smell if there ever was one. The same smell that was there every time Lonnie disassembled her rifle to clean it.

Bonnie watched in morbid fascination as Lonnie cleaned and oiled the large rifle on the table in front of her. Lonnie didn't oil it too much, since she'd said that too much oil would attract dust that could make the gun jam when she tried to fire it. Once Lonnie had finished cleaning her rifle, she put away the cloth and oil she'd been using and then started to reassemble it.

Bonnie had known for a long time that Lonnie was a sniper, and that she had had extensive combat training, but when she'd seen her older sister taking out those monsters – those Zoa-things – with a single shot to the head each, the fact that her older sister, who she'd gone shopping with whenever she was on leave, was _really_ a trained killer had started to truly sink in. It really wasn't something that Bonnie liked to think about for very long; it was just too weird.

Too intense.

A soft "chirp" from the radio on the table between them broke Bonnie's attention away from the thoughts she'd been trying not to think in the first place.

"Rockwaller," Lonnie spoke into the radio mic with a flat, calm assurance; it wasn't quite what Bonnie considered her sister's "soldier voice", but it was close. "Yes, sir, I am finished." The one-sided conversation was a little strange as far as Bonnie was concerned, but that was probably only because she couldn't hear the person Lonnie was talking to. "Yes, sir. I'll be there as soon as I can; over and out."

"What's going on, sis?" she asked, deliberately trying to be casual and hoping Lonnie wouldn't catch on.

"Limited live-fire training exercise." Fortunately, Lonnie seemed to be too preoccupied by what she was getting ready to do to pay much attention to Bonnie. "Aptom's offered to provide targets for us."

"Aptom?" Bonnie repeated, trying to shudder noticeably.

Even after all this time, that guy still gave her the creeps. They said he was a Lost Unit, a Zoanoid-eater; but with his bright red eyes, not to mention that big, nasty-looking facial scar of his, Bonnie thought he looked more like some kind of supervillain. She'd seen him during the battle for what was left of L.A., that day when Chronos had finally revealed themselves to the world.

Aptom and a group of people who looked just like him, and who Bonnie had later learned were his clones, had been harassing a different group of Zoanoids than the one that Lonnie and the rest of her team had been shooting. Now that Bonnie thought back to that day, she realized that Aptom had probably been eating _those_ Zoanoids, too. It was hard, impossible really, for Bonnie to feel any sympathy for them.

_They_ had been the ones to attack her home, tried to kill one of her older sisters, and prevented the ACTF from being able to successfully evacuate with her mom and her other older sister. If Aptom wanted to eat them, then more power to him. Just as long as he didn't actually do it in front of her; because, ew!

Trailing behind Lonnie as her sister made her way to the firing range, Bonnie wasn't surprised when Lonnie turned to look at her. She always _had_ been observant.

"Bonnie, why are you following me?"

"I just thought you might like some moral support. You know, while you and the other guys work to perfect your aim and all?"

"Are you sure that one of the "other guys" isn't the reason you want to come in the first place?"

Bonnie blushed. "Look, I already know that Sean Barker's taken-"

"But Ryan Crouger isn't," Lonnie pressed. "And, I've seen how you look at him."

"I _know_ he's totally unattainable, all right? I'm way clear on that. He's like some super-cool, super-powerful superhero. And I'm just your average, everyday cheerleader-turned-refugee."

"That wasn't what I meant, Bonnie," Lonnie said, her tone more serious than Bonnie had ever heard before. "Getting involved with a soldier isn't something to take lightly; especially when they're on the front-lines, the way Ryan and Sean are. Still, we can talk about this later; a live-fire training exercise is no place for a civilian. Now, get back to the main living-area, and don't try following me again."

"Yes, _ma'am_," Bonnie said, tossing a mock-salute at Lonnie as she turned and left the part of Angel Canyon that had been set aside for the ACTF soldiers and staff to use.

Since the ACTF guys kept weird hours, getting their people up at the crack of dawn even when there _was_ no dawn, it was decided that things would be a lot simpler if they kept the soldiers separate from the normal people. Bonnie herself thought it was a good idea, even in spite of the fact that she had to walk across half of Angel Canyon just to visit her own sister. Of course, the weird hours and often-grueling schedules didn't keep people from volunteering to serve with the ACTF.

Heck, if their sense of fashion hadn't been so completely heinous, Bonnie would have probably joined up with them herself by now. They were freedom fighters; liberators. They were the ones who had saved the lives of every single person down here in Angel Canyon; it was just too bad that their uniforms weren't more fashionable.

Especially those _truly_ heinous NBC suits; whatever they were.


	35. Training

When Captain and sniper Lonnie Rockwaller arrived at the specially designed firing-range, she was confronted by ten Zoanoids of varying types. From the lightly armored, fast-moving scouts like Rocies, Razell, and Citiciss; combat types like Gregole and Malcult; flight types like Davu, Devold, and Vikarr; and even a pair of Enzyme II Guyver-killers. Captain Rockwaller, naturally, reacted as her training as a member of the Anti Chronos Task Force's Hunter Division dictated under the circumstances: aiming her Zoanoid Buster Mark II at the head of the nearest of the Zoanoids – the Malcult – Lonnie prepared to fire.

To fight to the death to keep these Zoanoids from breaching the civilian parts of the Alpha Site.

"Rockwaller!"

"Yessir?"

"Stand down, Captain," Lieutenant Colonel Atkins ordered sharply.

"Hostiles, sir. Ten of them," Lonnie said, already firmly in combat mode. "We have to eliminate them quickly, before they have a chance to report in."

Oddly enough, the Malcult started laughing almost before she had finished speaking. "Well, I really have to hand it to you, Lonnie: when you overreact, you do it big time."

"Aptom?"

"In the flesh." The Malcult's head distorted and _melted_, running together until Aptom's own, heavily scarred face, along with his head and neck, sat atop the scout-Zoanoid's shoulders. "So to speak."

"Apologies, sir," Lonnie said, safetying her ZB2 and slinging it back over her left shoulder. "I miscalculated."

"Understood, Rockwaller," the Lieutenant Colonel acknowledged, turning to address the Hunter Division at large. "All right, this is how we're going to do things: Shepherd, concentrate on the Razell; Carter, the Citiciss; Rook, the Malcult; Berenson, the Devold; O'Neil, the Rocies; Richards, the Gregole; Anderson, the Vikarr; Fallon, the Davu. Barker, Crouger, your job is to get past those Enzyme IIs and provide assistance to the Hunters. Aptom will of course be attempting to stop you. Aptom?"

"What?"

"I don't want you shape-shifting in the middle of combat, the way you did last time. This is meant to be as realistic a simulation as we can manage under the circumstances; that requires realistic Zoanoids. Understand?"

"Yeah, whatever," Aptom's Malcult form said, waving a taloned hand in a distinctly dismissive manner.

"I'm serious about this, Aptom. The last time you participated in one of these exercises, it was reported back to me that you were using Gaster-type missiles, Synevite-type tentacles, and Zektor-type heavy bio-lasers. All on the same Zoanoid, no less. This time, if you take what would have been fatal damage for the Zoanoid you're impersonating, then I want you off the battlefield until this exercise is done. Now, is there any part of this that you do _not_ understand?"

"I already agreed to do this for you," Aptom's Devold form said, sounding annoyed. "Now stop harping on me, so I can get it done, all right?"

"I just want to ensure that you remember what kind of an exercise this is; you can save your heavy-hitters for when we're field-testing new equipment. However, this is meant to be a training exercise, and I expect you to treat it as such."

"Fine; whatever," Aptom's Rocies form said, lashing its tail in annoyance. "Can we all just fight already?"

"Provided you remember what kind of exercise this is."

All ten Aptoms gave him a dirty look.


	36. Strength

Bonnie, settling into her favorite seat at the little café where her friend's mother worked, and she herself sometimes took a turn bussing tables, blew some steam from the mug of hot chocolate she was drinking and wondered again how Lonnie was doing. Her oldest sister was good at what she did – heck, everyone in the ACTF was really good at their jobs – but she was also facing off with Aptom right now. He was, like, some crazy shapeshifter thing.

Lonnie had told her that Aptom could transform into any Zoanoid that he'd eaten – or to hear Lonnie say it, absorbed – no matter how long ago he'd eaten it. And then, as if that wasn't weird enough, according to Lonnie, Aptom could also combine those Zoanoids into _really_ freaky chimera-like Monster Zoanoids. Of course, the fact that she'd never spent more than ten seconds in the same room as Aptom meant that everything she did manage to learn about him came to her second-hand through Lonnie.

Of course, her oldest sister had never been one to exaggerate; so, that made what she had told Bonnie about Aptom a heck of a lot more likely to be true than some of the things other people said about him. That, plus the way Aptom had acted on those few occasions that they _had_ met, plus the way Lonnie's fellow ACTF soldiers tended to act around him, let Bonnie know that Aptom was everything he was made out to be.

And, that was a really creepy thought.

"Hey, Bon."

Bonnie, looking up from her contemplation of her hot chocolate, saw one of her closer friends – and one of the few that had managed to make it to the evacuation point so they could be taken to Angel Canyon; but she didn't like to think about those kinds of things, because they were depressing – sitting down at her table.

"Hi, Cordy," she said, uncurling her left hand from around her mug so she could wave to her old friend. "How have you been doing lately?"

"Ugh! I am _so_ glad that you asked," Cordy said, with the manner of someone who was settling in for a good, long rant.

Bonnie had really only asked to be friendly, since she wasn't particularly interested in the contents of Cordelia's increasingly inane rants. Cordelia Chase had started out as someone who Bonnie had hung out with because the two of them had shared common interests: cheerleading, boys, and shopping. Not always in that order. Then, as time had gone on and Bonnie had started to develop new interests, the other girl had become someone that Bonnie hung out with so that she could seem deep by comparison.

A bit cruel on her part, probably, and maybe in its own way just as shallow as Cordelia had been back then, but Cordelia had been too self-absorbed to notice. And it looked like she still was.

Bonnie had long since stopped bothering to even fake an interest in anything her friend was saying anymore. She already knew she could do anything short of getting up to leave, or maybe breaking out into song, and Cordelia would just keep complaining the way she always did. Of course, if she _did_ stop asking the other girl about how she was holding up, Cordelia might start wondering if something was wrong.

Something might have been, but Bonnie didn't really want to talk about that.

What was even more annoying was the fact that Cordelia was always complaining about the same dumb things: the lack of cars, despite the fact that any idiot could see that Angel Canyon was way underground, and because of that they had a finite air supply; the lack of a mall, even with nothing to spare to build it with, and no place to put it even if they _did_. And even a few other things that Bonnie hadn't cared enough to pay attention to the first time.

Once upon a time, Bonnie herself would have been complaining about the very same kind of things. But that was before. Before Chronos; before Angel Canyon; before she'd seen so many people risking, and even losing, their lives while trying to drive back the attacking Zoanoids and buy time for all of the refugees to finish being evacuated. That old Bonnie had died when she'd seen one of Lonnie's squad-mates mauled to death by one of those werewolf-looking Zoanoids.

Seeing Lonnie, grim-faced but utterly calm, stepping over the over the corpse to shoot the Zoanoid that had killed one of her squad had just made it more final.

Bonnie didn't know quite what kind of person she was becoming now; maybe she was just growing up. That made it even harder to listen to Cordelia when she complained about things that didn't really matter anymore. There were times that Bonnie found herself wondering what _Cordelia_ had seen while she was being evacuated from L.A., and why it hadn't seemed to affect her at all.


	37. Clones

Aptom's Malcult form dodged agilely to the right, letting the spray of explosive shells that would have forced him to regenerate his head pass by. Considering the rules he was operating under, this would have had him out of the fight if he'd let them hit. After all, having one's head blown off _would_ have been fatal damage to anyone who couldn't regenerate as well as he could.

Just as he was about to start taunting the soldier-boy about his piss-poor aim, Aptom realized that he'd just gotten confirmation of something he'd been waiting for for some time. It was something he'd tried to explain to Atkins, with not much success. The fact that he had never been really good with words had only made the situation even more annoying than it had been to start with.

Of course there _weren't_ really any words that _could_ describe the link that he shared with all of the other parts of himself was yet another reason he hated trying to talk about it. "Clone-link" had been the closest that anyone had come, but it was a lot deeper than that. They weren't just clones, and what he shared with them wasn't just a link.

But, since he could never quite find the words to explain that, Aptom just stuck with that explanation.

The news he'd just gotten from one of his many other selves was very good, and since he wasn't in the mood to get his head blown off for a _seventh_ time, he lashed out with a pair of Synevite tentacles and wrapped them around the waist of the soldier attacking him – he vaguely recalled the man's name being Dave, or something like that – and lifted him off his feet. Atkins got all huffy with him for that, of course.

"Aptom! You were previously informed about-"

"I just got a message from one of the guys down in Fort Collins – you remember, where Chronos stored all of those planes? All of the Zoanoids manning that storage facility have been infected." Aptom grinned, in a manner that some people – people he hated – would have probably called insolent. He'd morphed his head back into his normal, "human" form just so he could do that. "Chronos hasn't sent over any humans, and I've been making regular reports, so no one knows that all of the Zoanoids there are me now."

"Good," Atkins said, obviously willing to overlook a bit of fun on his part in light of what he'd just reported; one of the many reasons he honestly preferred working with the guy over anyone else, not that he was going to actually _tell_ the man that, of course. "Make sure that no one else becomes aware of that fact. Have they started putting pressure on you to begin scrapping the aircraft?"

"No, but Shin's been talking about sending in some more troops to reinforce the base; well, that's what _he_ thinks," he said, grinning widely.

"More meals for you and the horde, eh Maniac?" Ryan laughed, managing somehow to give the impression of winking in spite of the obvious fact that Guyvers like him didn't have eyelids.

"They always are," he said, amused by the nickname; it was definitely more interesting than anything else he'd been called in his time.

"All right, now that we're finished with the self-congratulatory back slapping, let's finish this exercise," Atkins said, with a sharp nod to the soldier-boy still wrapped in his tentacles. "Rook!"

"Yessir."

Dropping said soldier-boy, Aptom shifted back into the form of a basic, everyday Malcult. Well, at least as basic as _his_ forms ever got, anyway.

"You _sure_ you're just a Malcult?" soldier-boy Rook deadpanned, as he once again dodged another of his shots. Since the ammo they could use in this particular exercise was limited, and he was clearly starting to run out given the many times that Aptom had managed to dodge him, he was obviously starting to get annoyed; he could go suck eggs. "I don't think any _normal_ Zoanoid could move that fast."

"You ever fight a Zoanoid that _wasn't_ me, soldier-boy?" he asked, annoyed.

"Well, no, but-"

"Good, then shut up. And consider yourself lucky you're not up against a Lu-kill," he said, chuckling. "Then you'd _really_ be in some deep shit."

"Chronos didn't really name one of their Zoanoids _Lu-Kill_, did they?"

"Sergeant Rook, mind on your mission," Atkins said, sounding about as unimpressed as he ever did.

"Sorry, sir," the soldier-boy said, raising his gun. "Won't happen again."

He twitched slightly, having felt his Citiciss' head get blown off and his Devold take a Pressure Cannon to the chest. Both of his Enzyme IIs had long since been taken out of the fight; both with their heads blown off, which meant that Chronos was fucked if they kept trying to use those things against these particular Guyvers. Even those flying ones – probably called Enzyme III; the old bastard not having much imagination when it came to names, and all – which he'd never really managed to get a good taste of thanks to that old bastard of a Zoalord Balkus, wouldn't be able to take Guyvers IV and V down.

That was good; it meant that a certain pair of Guyvers could do a lot more damage to those Chronos bastards _without_ having to worry about getting hurt, themselves. And, that meant that Chronos was going to be _very_ sorry that they had _ever_ decided to piss off the last of the Lost Number Commandos. _Speaking of which, I guess I should check up on how Sho's been doing lately; little idiot's probably gotten himself in trouble again without me there. _He grinned; at least he'd have the chance to check up on his little brothers.


	38. Ingriam

As he made his way to the top of the Genesis Tower, carrying a box wrapped in shiny gold and silver foil, Gaster pushed past a knot of curious humans and stepped into the waiting elevator. He'd expected the humans to be curious; the way anyone would be after seeing so many Zoanoids carrying what were obviously presents up to the top of the Tower. The party was Zoanoids only; unprocessed humans still tended to piss Lord Mirabilis off, to the point where he was willing to kill them just to shut them up.

Bit of a P.R. headache, that; so it was just best to keep the humans out of the party, or just away from Lord Mirabilis entirely.

Gaster leaned back against the far wall of the elevator, holding the present carefully so he wouldn't damage the wrapping paper, and waiting for the elevator to reach the top of the Tower.

_-Gaster!-_

_Hey, kiddo, _he thought back, knowing that the kid's Zoalord telepathy, focused as it was on him right now, would be able to pick up on it. _I bet you're glad we managed to find the time to celebrate your big day, huh?_

_-I sure am! I can't wait to open all my presents!-_

_Well, I'm pretty sure that I'm going to be the last one in, so you'll be able to open them soon. And then you can eat your cake, too._ The only thing he received in response to that last thought was the mental impression of Lord Mirabilis' happy laughter. _You still with me, kiddo?_

_-Yeah. Elegen still has his hands over my eyes, though.-_

_When did this happen?_

_-Oh, well Elegen put his hands over my eyes so I wouldn't be able to see my presents until all my Zoanoids were all done setting them out.-_

_Well, if you really wanted to see all of your presents, you could always just tap the senses of one of your Zoanoids._

_-Zektor says _that_ would be cheating.-_

Gaster laughed outright once Lord Mirabilis had made that particular statement. _I guess it would be at that, kiddo._

The slight lurch of the elevator as it stopped at Lord Mirabilis' private office on top of the Tower brought Gaster's attention back to his current situation. When the doors slid open in front of him, he stepped out into the office itself and made his way through the bustling crowds of Zoanoids therein. He could see Lord Mirabilis, sitting at the table he'd helped carry into the office for the party.

Elegen really _did_ have his hands over Lord Mirabilis' eyes. That was kind of funny: seeing a Zoalord in bull battle-dress – cape, armor, the whole works – sitting at a table decorated with ribbons, streamers, and party favors, and with one of his underlings' hands covering his eyes. Elegen looked like he was enjoying himself, especially with Zektor leaning over his shoulder.

Team Five's leader was doing his usual non-verbal direction bit; pretty much a necessity in this case, since he obviously didn't want little Lord Mirabilis trying to guess what his presents were before they'd all been set out. Setting his own present down on top of the pile, Gaster headed over to the table where little Lord Mirabilis and the four remaining members of Team Five were gathered.

"Are you _sure_ I can't look yet?"

"Yeah, kidlet, I'm sure. Your presents haven't all been set out yet," Zektor said. "I'll tell Elegen to get his hands off your eyes once they're all ready, don't worry."

Zektor was the only one who got to call little Lord Mirabilis "kidlet", and he made sure everyone else knew that, too; either punching or severely reprimanding anyone else who tried to use that nickname of his. Not being one to tempt fate, even over something so seemingly small, Gaster just stuck to his own nickname for their little Overlord. Even though little Lord Mirabilis _could_ be cheek-pinchingly cute.

He didn't even seem to be conscious of what he was doing that was so cute in the first place, which of course made it even cuter.

As the last of Lord Mirabilis' birthday presents were set down on the table, Zektor nudged Elegen, and Elegen in turn removed his hands from their little Overlord's eyes. Apparently, their little Overlord had been wearing his sunglasses the whole time. He really seemed to love those things; probably because his dad never seemed to take his own off.

"Okay, kidlet, they're all set out for ya. You can open your eyes now."

"Oh, wow!" little Lord Mirabilis exclaimed, bouncing in his seat. "I got all of _those_?"

"They're all yours, kidlet."

"Can I open them now?" their little Overlord asked earnestly.

"I don't think that's the best idea," Zancrus said. "Not until you're finished eating. No sense getting cake and ice cream all over your presents."

"Oh, right," little Lord Mirabilis said, giggling cutely. "I forgot. When are we going to eat the cake?"

"I'd say right about now," Zektor said, moth curling up into a small, gentle smile.

And, sure enough, two Standard Zoanoids showed up then, carrying a very large, tasty-looking – and -smelling, for that matter – chocolate cake into the spacious, well-appointed office.

"Here's the birthday boy!" the one on the left called out, grinning at little Lord Mirabilis as he and his counterpart set down the plate of cake they were carrying before the Overlord of Chronos' Africa Section. "How's it feel to be eight years old today, kiddo?"

"His Excellency was eight years old back in June, moron. We're just celebrating it this late because we were all to busy whipping this Section back into shape to set something like this up earlier."

They were probably Alvix models, since those were the most common models in this Section, ever since little Lord Mirabilis had taken control of it. The model was reasonably strong, and easy enough to make from what he'd heard the lab techs saying. Combined with the fact that they'd been designed personally by His Excellency Ingriam Mirabilis, and they were perfect for mass production here in the Africa Section.

Looking back up after being lost in thought for a bit, Gaster saw that the two Alvix had set the plate of cake out in front of little Lord Mirabilis and he'd just gotten himself set to blow out the candles.

"Don't forget to make your wish," Zancrus chided, to the accompaniment of little Lord Mirabilis' giggles.

"I already did _that_, silly," little Lord Mirabilis said, smiling before he blew out all eight candles with a single breath of air.

There was a bright flash of light, then – combined with the telepathic presence of someone who was obviously another Zoalord – and a figure in full battle-dress appeared just behind little Lord Mirabilis, his arms wrapping around their young Overlord's broad, armored shoulders.

"Happy Birthday, Kenji-chan," His Excellency Lord Imakarum Mirabilis said, as their little Lord Mirabilis stood to embrace his father more completely.

It was Zektor who started applauding, as their little Lord Mirabilis ducked his head slightly and His Excellency Lord Imakarum kissed him on the forehead, but the rest of Team Five started clapping just a few seconds later. Soon, all fourteen of the Zoanoids who had been able to take the time off to come to this party were clapping for their Overlord. Gaster, personally, was particularly happy that Supreme Overlord Alkanphel had had whatever talk with His Excellency Imakarum that the older Zoalord had obliquely referred to whenever their little Lord Mirabilis had asked him why he'd come back.

Or, to be more precise, whenever various Hyper Zoanoids had asked him that question "on behalf of Lord Mirabilis", though he honestly doubted that His Excellency Imakarum had been fooled by those excuses; he'd probably known what they wanted even before the first word had come out of their mouths.

Of course, since they'd all wanted to know the answer to that for their little Overlord's sake, that was probably why His Excellency Imakarum had tolerated being asked the same damn question so many times.


	39. Fatherhood

As he sat next to Kenji, eating chocolate cake and listening to his son happily detailing the latest goings-on at Chronos Africa's Genesis Tower, Imakarum smiled. He had truly missed this; spending time with Kenji had been one of the things that he had enjoyed most about working for Chronos. He was truly grateful to Lord Alkanphel, not only for taking care of Kenji while he had been… away, but for helping him to fully understand just how much his son still needed him.

_-Kenji-chan,-_ he called, deliberately using his telepathy so that Kenji would use his own in response, and he could truly hear his son's voice once more.

_-What is it, Dad? And, why are we talking like this? Are you going to tell me a special secret?-_

_-You might say that, Kenji-chan. What we're going to be doing tomorrow is certainly going to be special.-_

_-What are we going to be doing tomorrow, Dad?-_

_-Well, you and I are going to be leaving this place once your party had ended, so you should really start thinking about who you want to put in charge of your territory for the duration of your absence.-_

_-Do you think Zektor and the others would want to come with me, too?-_

_-I doubt that they would be particularly interested in what we're all going to be doing tomorrow, my Kenji-chan,-_ Imakarum said, placatingly, in spite of the flash of annoyance that he had experienced.

Said feeling was not directed at Kenji, of course; he would never feel anything but love for his dearest son. Imakarum's antipathy was reserved for the members of Team Five; the nerve of mere Hyper Zoanoids, to think they could lay claim to _his_ son's heart. _-We're going to be staying overnight at the Dead Sea Plant, and in the morning all of the Council of Twelve are going to complete a very important project for Chronos.-_

_-What- oh; the Ark!-_

_-Yes, Kenji-chan,-_ he said, smiling indulgently. _-We're going to be heading to the Dead Sea Plant, to finish work on the Ark.-_

_-You mean, we're _really_ going to be all done with the Ark after tomorrow?-_

_-That's right. And, Chronos is going to use the Ark to fly up into space,-_ he said, turning slightly so that he would be able to see more of Kenji's adorable face; the look of anticipation his son wore was not one that he had had many occasions to see. _-Won't that be fun?-_

_-And, we can stay up in space for as long as we want?-_

_-As long as you make sure that you've arranged for some of your underlings to oversee the running of your territory in your absence. Anyway, we wouldn't be able to stay out there indefinitely, Kenji-chan.-_

_-Oh, okay,-_ Kenji said, leaning his head against Imakarum's own.

_-I think you should open your presents now, Kenji-chan. We really should be leaving soon.-_

_-Okay, Dad, I will,-_ his son said, sitting back up.

The presents were duly opened and gushed about, and Kenji ended up with not only five cozy-looking blankets for his bed, but also thirteen new plush toys for his large collection. A collection that Kaji seemed to be the centerpiece of. On the one hand, Imakarum was rather pleased to know that none of Kenji's newer plush toys would ever take the place of the first one that he had been given to keep him company those times when he couldn't be there personally.

At first, however, Imakarum had been rather annoyed that Kenji had chosen to keep a toy that Masaki Murakami had purchased for him; that man had been a fool, and the fewer reminders of him that remained, the happier Imakarum would be. Kenji was his, after all; _his_ son. Still, Kaji had been one of the few things present to remind Kenji that he had still been loved while Imakarum himself had been… away.

He would not, _could_ not, begrudge Kenji the comfort – small as it had clearly been – that he had been brought by that stuffed animal.

Once Kenji's presents had all been moved to his room, with the reassurance that he could come back and rearrange them in any way that he liked once their work on the Ark had been completed, Imakarum took Kenji to the Heliport at the top of the Genesis Tower. He was glad that he had managed to convince his son not to bother asking Team Five to come along, since the last thing he had wanted was to deal with those presumptuous Hyper Zoanoids while he and Kenji were staying at the Dead Sea Plant together. He was just helping Kenji up onto the boarding-ramp of his son's private helicopter, when Zektor came striding out onto the tarmac with thoroughly undeserved self-importance.

Imakarum was just about to tell the arrogant Hyper Zoanoid to return to his assigned post – and that he was _not_ welcome on their journey to the Dead Sea Plant – when Zektor calmly tossed Kaji to Kenji and then proceeded to speak to him as if Imakarum himself was not even there.

"I thought you might want to have this with you when you left," the Hyper Zoanoid said, patting Kenji's head and ruffling his long fringe, "You take care of yourself, eh kidlet?"

"I will," Kenji said, smiling as he giggled cutely.

"Kenji."

"What is it, Dad?"

"Why don't you get inside the helicopter and make yourself comfortable." It was more of a command than a request, and Kenji seemed to understand it as such.

"Okay, Dad," Kenji said, hugging him around the waist before he climbed into his own helicopter.

Imakarum stepped up to confront Zektor; it was _past_ time that his presumptuous Hyper Zoanoid learned his place.

"What are you doing out here, Zektor?"

"Imakarum- oh right, Your Excellency. I was just making sure that my Overlord had everything he needed to get by while he was away from his friends here in the Africa Section."

"I would have noticed that Kaji was missing," Imakarum said, not particularly caring if he sounded snappish.

"Yeah, but would you have noticed it soon enough?"

"Even if I hadn't, I still would have been able to retrieve it for him," he said, the narrowing of his eyes going unseen behind his darkened visor.

"You mean you'd actually try and teleport onto a moving 'copter?" Zektor scoffed, obviously being deliberately obtuse. "I'd pay to see that."

"I would not have needed to do something like that," he said flatly; he was annoyed, yes, but Kenji was close enough to hear him if he began arguing, and Imakarum did not want to cause his son undue stress. "You may leave now, Zektor."

"Yeah." The Hyper Zoanoid's arms were folded, his narrow-eyed gaze resting on the tarmac for a few, long moments before he looked up once more, into Imakarum's own hidden eyes. "Well, you just make sure you take care of him, you hear me?"

"Are you questioning my abilities, Zektor?" he asked, trying to control the annoyance he was feeling.

"_You_ didn't have to take care of him when he was hurting, _I_ did," the arrogant Hyper Zoanoid ground out. "So don't try to bullshit me about your alleged skills."

"Hey, Dad?" Kenji called, stepping out of the helicopter and standing on the boarding ramp. "Aren't you going to come?"

"I'll be there in a few minutes, Kenji-chan. You just make yourself comfortable and wait for me; I just have to clarify things with Zektor."

"Okay," Kenji said, nodding as he turned and made his way back into the helicopter.

Once Kenji was out of sight, Imakarum grabbed Zektor by the neck and dragged the Hyper Zoanoid back to the entrance to the Heliport.

"Now, Zektor, I demand an explanation for this."

"An explanation? You want an _explanation_, after what you did?"

"That _is_ my right as your Lord," Imakarum said calmly, though he was growing swiftly more irritated with the Hyper Zoanoid's presumptuousness.


	40. Children

"My _Over_lord is the one sitting in that helicopter waiting for you. The same one who's _been_ waiting for you for over a year, while you tried to pull your head out of your ass."

"How _dare_ you!" he snarled, swiftly becoming enraged.

"Oh, I dare a _lot_ of things. And, it's not like you can say anything about it, either; _you_ weren't the one who had to watch. _You_ weren't the one who had to try to explain to a grieving kid just where his father was on his seventh birthday, of all damned days." The Hyper Zoanoid's blue eyes narrowed furiously. "I've had to keep him from falling apart, keep him busy so he couldn't _think_ too much, when all he could think about was why _you_ weren't here with him. So don't try to _demand_ anything from me, you useless deadbeat. You lost that right a long time ago."

"_What_?!" he bit out.

"_Your_ _son_ was dying by _inches_," Zektor hissed, low and dangerous and right in Imakarum's face. "And _I _was the one who had to keep pulling him back; who had to keep reminding him that there were other people who cared, even when it was painfully obvious that he could have cared less about them. I was the one who held him, those nights when he cried because _you_ weren't there for him," Zektor snapped, his tone annoyingly self-righteous. "You have no right to _demand_ anything from me."

"I have _every_ right," Imakarum snarled right back. "You, even with all of your enhancements, are still merely a Zoanoid. When I give you an order, you _will_ follow it _to the letter_. When I tell you to be silent, you will _shut your mouth_. And when I demand an explanation from you, _Zoanoid_, you _will_ give me a satisfactory one."

"Is that your way of telling me I should only say things you _want_ to hear?" the arrogant Hyper Zoanoid sneered.

"It _means_ that I want you to tell me the truth," he said flatly.

"The truth?" the Hyper Zoanoid laughed harshly, mockingly. "You don't want the _truth_, you want this happy little delusion you've managed to build for yourself. The one where you don't have to know what your _own kid_ went through while _you_ weren't there for him."

"I _love_ my son!" he snarled at last, completely fed up with listening to this arrogant, presumptuous Hyper Zoanoid's assertions; half-spoken as some of them might be.

"Maybe in that terminally screwed-up head of yours you do, and I can't deny the fact that he still loves you. I just know that I love him more."

"You _what_?" he demanded, long past explosive rage and swiftly approaching the cold fury that he had felt on very few occasions in his life.

"Didn't know you were hard of hearing. I said that I love that Overlord of ours more than you do. I was the one who stayed with him, to keep him from falling apart, not you. I was the one who made sure that he got everything he needed to run this base like a professional, not you. So, I think it's pretty damned obvious just which one of us loves that little Overlord of ours more."

"Do you have _any_ idea what it cost me, to do the things I did?" he demanded.

"Cost you? Cost _you_?! _You_ weren't the one who had to watch as a _kid_ struggled through the daily routine of being a Chronos Overlord alone. _You_ weren't there to see, how every time he created a new or redesigned Zoanoid model, he'd try so hard to contact you, and then nearly break down in tears when you didn't answer. So don't even _try_ to hand me some bullshit excuse about how much it cost _you_ to break off contact with him. Because, I'll tell you here and now: whatever kind of heartache you _think_ your decisions cost you, I know for a _fact_ that they cost our little Overlord a hell of a lot more."

"Silence yourself, _Zoanoid._"

"Or what?" the infuriating Hyper Zoanoid sneered. "You'll kill me, maybe? You know, your boy's going to wonder why I'm dead. And then what're you going to do? Lie? To your own son?"

"You can be replaced," he informed the creature, with far more patience than he deserved.

"Cloned, maybe. But _he_ would still know the difference; my _team_ would know the difference."

"Your _team_ can also be replaced," he said; clearly, the arrogant creature did not understand the lines that he was crossing.

"Not to him, we can't," the Hyper Zoanoid said, with such arrogance, such an overblown sense of his own importance, that Imakarum was sorely tempted to kill him right then and there just to prove him wrong. "We have things between us that you'll never know about, and no clone would ever know about, either."

"You would presume to keep secrets from _me_?" he hissed.

"Just the things you don't seem to care about; the ones you never ask about."

"Such as?" he prompted.

"Such as the song I'd sing to our little Overlord those nights when he couldn't get to sleep."

"I could very easily ask Kenji about that," Imakarum said, attempting to be reasonable; if Kenji sensed the tension building between himself and the Hyper Zoanoid Zektor, it was bound to distress him.

"Yeah, you could," the Hyper Zoanoid said, seeming decidedly unimpressed. "Why _don't_ you?"

_-Dad? Aren't we going to be late if we don't leave soon?-_

"We will finish this discussion of ours later," Imakarum said firmly, as he turned and made his way back to the helicopter where Kenji sat waiting for him.

"What were you doing that took you so long, Dad?"

_-I just had a few things I needed to speak with your subordinate about, Kenji-chan.-_

Just as his son had started to open his mouth to speak, Imakarum laid his right pointer finger over Kenji's lips. _-Remember what I told you before, Kenji-chan?-_

_-Oh, right. Sorry, Dad.-_

_-No harm done, Kenji-chan,- _he said, gently stroking Kenji's left cheek in an effort to reassure the boy.

Giving the order to take off, and having Kenji himself confirm it, Imakarum leaned back in the seat and tried to relax. They were now on their way to the Dead Sea Plant.

_-So, why _were_ you out there with Zektor for so long, Dad?_

_-I simply wanted to clarify a few things for him.-_

_-Oh,-_ Kenji said, still sounding a bit confused. _-But, I already told him what to do while I was gone.-_

_-Kenji, what is he to you?-_ he asked, turning to look more directly at his son.

_-You mean Zektor?-_

_-Yes. What does he mean to you, my son?-_

_-He's my friend.-_

_-Just a friend, my Kenji-chan?-_ he prompted, as Kenji leaned against his right side.

_-Yeah. Well, maybe more like a big brother,-_ Kenji admitted, looking up at him with confusion. _-Is that bad?-_

_-No,-_ Imakarum said, unable to find fault with Kenji's logic. _-I simply hope that Zektor remembers that he is _only_ your brother. And nothing more.-_

_-Huh?-_

Kenji looked over at him again, and since his son had now taken his sunglasses off, Imakarum had a very clear view of Kenji's innocently confused expression.

_-It's nothing you need to worry yourself about, Kenji-chan. Go to sleep; we still have a long, boring ride ahead of us.-_

_-Okay,-_ Kenji said, shoving the armrest that separated them into its upright position hard enough that it immediately locked into place. Then, settling his head in Imakarum's lap, Kenji closed his eyes and sighed softly. _-Dad, will you tell me a story?-_

Imakarum's fingers, already entwined in Kenji's hair from when he'd started to stroke his son's long hair, twitched slightly in surprise.

_-What did you just ask me?-_ he asked, wanting to be certain that Kenji had asked what he had heard, rather than something else entirely.

_-Will you tell me a story, Dad?-_

_-What kind of story would you like to hear, Kenji-chan?-_

_-Maybe one about you and Mommy?- _Kenji responded, resting his head against Imakarum's stomach even as he tried to arrange his legs more comfortably on the seat.

Kenji's shin-guards made a muffled clanking sound as his son arranged his long legs on the seat he'd begun their journey in; Imakarum smiled softly. _-You want me to tell you a story about your mother, Kenji-chan?-_

_-I'd like that,-_ Kenji said, and Imakarum could sense that his son was just starting to fall into the early stages of sleep.

Kenji would probably have drifted off before he'd told more than half of the story; still, if Kenji wanted to hear about Miaka, he wasn't going to argue.

_-Once, not so long ago, there was a beautiful woman named Melissa Chapman,-_ Imakarum began, as the helicopter's rotors sliced through the air outside and Kenji settled his head deeper into Imakarum's lap inside.

There were so many stories that he could tell about the lively, mercurial, fascinating, and sometimes-exasperating woman who had shared his life for much too short a time, but Imakarum thought that Kenji – to start with – would enjoy hearing the story of how the two of them had first met. Even if he did _not_ particularly relish the thought of speaking about that fool Masaki Murakami again, even if only tangentially.


	41. Objectives

_)I can't believe you did that.(_

_)You've said that ten times already,(_ Ryan pointed out, his mental 'tone' mild.

_)Kid, you _ate_ the contents of an entire industrial-sized refrigerator; _and_ you used those time-bending powers of yours to do it, too.(_

_)I'm aware of that,(_ Ryan returned, seeming more amused by the direction of their discussion than anything else.

_)I know you get hungry after we spend so long time-shifted like that, but I really don't think it was a good idea to go blithely robbing a restaurant kitchen like that.(_

_)Yeah, well you made _that_ pretty damn clear after the first _twenty-seven_ times you said that.(_

They'd gone back to Japan as a favor to Atkins; to make contact with Agito and his "Zeus' Thunderbolts" resistance movement, and to see if his and Sean's fellow Guyver would be interested in forming an alliance with the ACTF. Ryan was also there for himself, to see just what kind of people served in Mr. Agito Makashima's army. And also, to see for himself whether the guy's inherent megalomania was starting to get the better of him.

Really, he hoped that it wasn't; his personal issues with the guy notwithstanding, and despite how fun it was to rile him up, Ryan knew that Agito was a good tactician, and a capable leader when he put his mind to it. It wouldn't be easy, replacing someone like that, no matter _how_ much notice they had, if something ever needed to be… _done_ about him. Ryan knew full well that he really wasn't the leader type; and, the less said about Sho in that kind of position, the better.

Sho was a good guy and all – no doubts about that – but he was _not_ cut out to lead this kind of a campaign. Agito – ruthless, heartless bastard that he could be when he put his mind to it – was; and, if that meant he had to hang around a bit, to keep an eye on Agito's mental-state – and occasionally knock him down a few pegs when he was getting too full of himself – then that was what he was going to do.

But, for the moment, what Ryan most wanted was to meet up with his contact, and get to the base that Agito had set up, so that he could sleep for a few hours. A few _very long_ hours.

Adjusting his sunglasses again, for lack of anything more productive to do, Ryan leaned against the wall of the empty building that he'd found to wait for his contact without being interrupted. Not being particularly fluent in speaking – much less _reading_ – any form of Japanese, Ryan wasn't sure about just what kind of building he was standing in front of, but it looked a lot like your standard-issue abandoned warehouse. He'd dealt with a bit more than his fair share of the things since he'd gotten into it with Chronos and their seemingly endless supply of minions.

The most prominent – and important, at least as far as he and his were concerned – being the one where the ACTF had set up their temporary command center / observation post where he'd first met up with Sean. Not to mention, where he'd prepared for the last of the covert battles against Chronos. At least, the ones where _Chronos_ had been the ones in hiding.

Now, it was the ACTF's turn to hide in the shadows and build up their strength; and then, to strike when Chronos was least expecting it.

But for now, it was time to shore up some old alliances, and hopefully build a new one that would be able to take down Chronos.

Turning to survey the street in front of him again, Ryan caught sight of a man, wandering through the city; he seemed like he was looking for someone. Looking for a very _particular_ someone, it seemed. He passed by too many people for Ryan to think that he _wasn't_ looking for someone. The question became now, just who was looking for him, and why?

Mentally nudging Elegen – not wanting to give Chronos even the slightest glimpse of one of the two Guyvers that they thought was dead – Ryan tensed subtly for combat. Traveling to Japan in Hypertime was one thing; he was moving _outside_ the perception of those who were stuck dealing with the normal progression of time. But, Atkins had made it clear that he wasn't to be seen – _at all_, if he could absolutely help it – in Guyver form until the ACTF was good and ready to make their presence felt in a big way.

"Hey, kid; what do _you_ think of the number three?" the man asked, after having given Ryan a once-over that was _just_ not-quite-long-enough to make him antsy.

"Well, I _guess_ it's okay, as far as numbers go," he said, smirking slightly as he spoke the pass-phrase they'd agreed on earlier. "Personally, though, I prefer five."

"I thought you might say something like that," the guy – one of Mr. Agito Makashima's Thunderbolts – said, completing the pass-phrase. "What's your name, kid?"

"John Kelly," Ryan said; that was the name he'd given to Agito, since all this cloak-and-dagger stuff couldn't help but remind him of one of his favorite Tom Clancy books.

"Good; Zeus wants to speak with you," he said.

"Lead the way, then." Tilting his head slightly, Ryan chuckled. "So, you're the numbers guy, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm the numbers guy; got me a lot of weird looks, let me tell you," the Thunderbolt said, chuckling. "Still, people tend to leave you alone when they think you're just some harmless eccentric."

"Don't I know it," Ryan said, laughing a bit, himself. He fully remembered all of the times _he'd_ acted just crazy enough to get people to leave him alone, back in the day. "Still, I guess we shouldn't talk too much about… _things _until we get to this base of yours."

"You'd be right about that," the Thunderbolt said, nodding.

He nodded in response, as the two of them fell into step with one another. Hands in his pockets, Ryan could just see the beginnings of the large crowds that had always seemed to characterize the main parts of any large city.

"We're going to need to pass through the outskirts of the city; we're going to be making for the old subway tunnels that lead to the base, so it's best that we're not conspicuous. Just follow my lead."

"Wouldn't it be better if no one saw us at all?" he asked, raising both eyebrows in an expression of airily mocking curiosity.

"That _would_ be the ideal, yes," the Thunderbolt said, chuckling sardonically. "But, unless you have a way for the both of us to turn invisible, I really don't see that happening."

"Well, I might not be able to do anything like _that_," he said, tilting his head as he smirked in amusement. "_But_… I do have something just as good."

With that still hanging in the air between them, and enough distance still remaining before they made it into even the outskirts of the city, Ryan called his Guyver Unit.

"Just what in the hell do you think you're _doing_?" the Thunderbolt – he really should make an effort to get to know the man's name; but later – demanded, all but snarling. "We're trying to _keep a low profile_!"

"Deep breaths, soldier-boy," he said, patting the man's shoulder just to bug him. "Just let me finish, huh?"

With another shout – "modify" this time – Ryan felt the long, whiplike tentacles of the Giga Unit wrapping around him. When he felt the numbness of the Unit digging into his already-armored body, shifting some parts around, and making new ones, he saw the look of frank disbelief on the Thunderbolt's face, and would have smirked if he'd possessed any of the necessary features to do so.

Taking a single step forward, he found no resistance to his movements; the Giga must have finished forming, then.

"Just what in the hell is _that_ thing?" the Thunderbolt asked, after giving the Giga an uneasy once-over.

"_This_," Ryan said, sweeping his right arm over the tall, thin, almost spindly form of the Giga Unit that he was now wearing. "Is what we in the biz call an upgrade. It's also the thing that's going to get us to this Thunderbolt base of yours without getting us caught; heck, no one's even going to be able to _see_ us."

"_Really_?" the Thunderbolt asked, obviously still skeptical.

"Yeah, really," he said, tilting his head and chuckling sardonically, then gently grabbed the Thunderbolt's right shoulder and time-shifted them both.


	42. Concealment

Once the transition into Hypertime from normal time was complete, something that took about a second, Ryan turned back to the Thunderbolt that had come to escort him to their base.

"Nothing's happened," the Thunderbolt said, scanning what he could see of their surroundings.

"Walk with me," he said, tilting his head slightly in amusement, even as the Thunderbolt gave him a Look.

"_That's_ your plan? To just walk out there, wearing _that_, and hope that none of the Zoanoids reports you to Chronos?"

"Well, I _am_ planning to go out there, yeah; but, if anyone _does_ manage to find me, then they pretty much deserve to catch me." He knew that it probably wasn't the best idea he'd ever had – screwing around with one of Mr. Agito Makashima's Thunderbolt soldiers – but he was feeling playful; and hell, it wasn't as if anyone _else_ could break into Hypertime the way he could. "Still, if you want to have a more in-depth discussion about this, that, and the other thing, you're going to have to catch me!"

Laughing, both at the look on the Thunderbolt's face and at the situation in general, Ryan dashed around the corner and made for the city proper.

It wasn't like any of the people there – what few of them weren't Zoanoids, anyway – would have a snowball's chance in hell of spotting him or his erstwhile companion. As he made his way into a more populated area of the city – bustling with the time-frozen statues of humans and Zoanoids going about their daily routines – Ryan heard the pounding footfalls of the Thunderbolt soldier who'd been following him. They seemed just that much louder compared to the almost eerie silence of Hypertime, of course.

"What… what in god's name is going on here?"

Turning back to look at the Thunderbolt he'd met up with, Ryan found the man staring in almost fearful awe at the mixed group of humans and Zoanoids – two Razell and a Malcult – who had been frozen in mid-step on their way down the sidewalk.

"What happened here?" the Thunderbolt asked, reaching out as if he was going to touch one of the frozen Zoanoids, and then seeming to think better of it. "What did you do to them."

"Not a thing," he said, shrugging with an air of complete nonchalance.

"What do you mean?" the Thunderbolt demanded, gesturing incredulously at the frozen figures "walking" by. "It's obvious you've done _something_ to them; just tell me what it is, there's probably a way that we can use this against Chronos."

"Okay; repeating myself. Joy," he muttered, his tone just about dripping with sarcasm. "For the second time, soldier-boy, I didn't do a thing to anyone else. I _did_ do something to us, though."

"What did you do to us?"

"I've shifted the both of us into what I call Hypertime. We're currently moving way too fast for anyone else in the world to see us or hear us," he said, walking over to where the Thunderbolt stood, still examining the frozen civilians.

"I think I understand what you said about us not being seen now," the Thunderbolt said, turning to give Ryan's Giga-enhanced Guyver form a critical once-over. "Still, you could have just told me that in the first place."

"How would that have been funny?" he earned himself a withering look for that, and wished for a moment that he could grin back.

"If you're _finished_ screwing with my head now," the Thunderbolt drawled, proving that he was actually capable of sarcasm; something Ryan had kind of wondered about. "We should really head for the base now."

With that, the Thunderbolt turned to walk away; Ryan grabbed his right shoulder before he could take a step. "Wait."

"What?"

"We'll get there faster if we fly," he said, jerking his thumb up at the sky.

"So we will," the Thunderbolt said, chuckling softly. "All right, Guyver. Take us up."

"Climb on my back and we'll take off," he said, turning so that the Thunderbolt would have an easier time doing so.

"You want me to ride on your back?"

"Is there something _wrong_ with my back?" he drawled, cocking his head in amusement.

"No. It's just- piggyback rides aren't all that dignified, you know?"

"You forgetting the part where only I can see or hear you, or are you just okay with the risk of me dropping you?"

"I know you wouldn't do that," the Thunderbolt said firmly.

"Not on purpose," he allowed, nodding. "But, there _are_ some times when I can't help but space out a bit."

"But, you'll make sure not to do that _now_, won't you?"

A quick check on Elegen revealed that his 'inner-Zoanoid' was still asleep, but the fact remained that there was no way for him to tell just how long _that_ was going to last. And if Elegen woke up and decided that he wanted to talk, even while Ryan himself was flying, well then, it was just best not to invite those kinds of consequences in the first place.

"Look, you think you could just humor me, here? It's _my_ body, and I know what I'm talking about."

The Thunderbolt he was trying to escort grumbled a bit, enough so that Ryan began to wonder if _everyone_ who worked for a certain Mr. Agito Makashima ended up picking up his huge ego and the corresponding obsession with looking perfect and strong 24/7. It was a real pain in the ass.

"I _did_ already mention the part about no one else being able to see us or hear us, right?" he asked, launching himself into the air with a combination of his own augmented leg-strength and the use of his Gravity Controller.

"_You're_ going to know," the Thunderbolt muttered, prompting Ryan let loose an annoyed sigh and shake his head. "Look, just don't tell anyone I did this, all right?"

"Fine, whatever. You _do_ know that you're going to have to guide me to this base of yours, right?"

"I know. Just follow my directions and you'll get there fine."

"All right then; show me the way to go home."


	43. Absolute

_In; out. Tense; relax._ The rhythm of the machine and the rhythm of her breathing blended into a comfortable whole. It was at times like this when she could forget; forget what she was and how she was treated. Forget the fact that she was unique in the world, and hated all the more for it. She could forget that she was Samarubu, the _only_ female Lost Unit.

As she fell deeper into her rhythm, submerging her mind ever more completely in the interplay of her muscles, her breathing, and the machine, Samarubu failed to notice the people now gathering around her.

People who looked like there was nothing that would make them happier than to see her disappear off the face of the Earth; those with the mien of one who would enjoy _personally _making her disappear.

XxXxX

Making a shushing motion to his fellow Zoanoids, Gustav stepped around to the back of the exercise machine. Then, just as the little test-tube freak was setting herself up for another rep, Gustav pulled out the selector pins from weights and let them dangle free. When the freak lunged forward into her next rep, expecting to work against the counterweight she had set up, the parts of the machine where she'd put her arms slammed into each other with a loud clack.

As the others burst out into loud guffaws, Gustav himself leered down at the little Lost Number bitch. Why the hell she thought she could go wandering merrily around the base really wasn't any of his concern, nor did he particularly care to find out. He and the others were just here to drag her back to labs where she belonged. The docs could deal with her; after all, no one else wanted the bitch and all she was really good for was a science experiment.

That was the reason she'd been shipped out here in the first place: Dr. Balkus himself wanted to poke around in her inner-workings, see if any of her powers could be put to work in Zoanoids who were actually _worth_ something.

Overlord Mirabilis – Lord Imakarum Mirabilis' son, strange as _that_ seemed sometimes – the one whose lab jockeys had been the ones to create her in the first place, had apparently jumped at the chance to get rid of the bitch. Remembering that made Gustav laugh all over again; because seriously, how pathetic was that? Even her own _Overlord_ hadn't wanted her.

As he and his fellow Zoanoids hustled the Lost Number up and out of the weight machine she'd somehow managed to claim, Gustav fingered the stun baton he kept on his person whenever he was sent to bring the Lost Number bitch back into the labs. He was hoping she'd give him a reason to use it. Or hell, maybe he could use it anyway and just _claim_ that she'd given him a reason. Nobody would check too deeply into that.

And it wasn't like anyone _important_ would actually care if she reported him.

Ringing the door-chime for the main lab, Gustav stood back and waited for the docs to notice him. He'd brought their errant specimen back, so that ought to make them happy, on the other hand, the bitch was being entirely too docile. He wouldn't be able to use his stun baton if this kept up; especially not in any sensitive places.

_Worthless Lost Number isn't letting me have _any_ fun._

XxXxX

When Alvade noticed that the sadistic lab rats had stopped poking and prodding at him, he opened his eyes. When he saw that some of them were in fact _leaving_ the lab area, he decided to follow them. It might not have been one of his better ideas, but the only reason that any of the lab rats would be leaving their lab like this was if someone new had been brought in. And, all things considered, Alvade wouldn't wish these sadists on anyone; well, maybe those bastard Hyper Zoanoids but _they_ were a special case.

Trailing along behind the lab rats as they made their way to the door, chattering on about something or other that Alvade wasn't really in the mood to pay attention to, he wondered just which poor sap had been thrown to the wolves _this_ time. Whoever they were, Alvade pitied them already. The others would want to know if there _was_ a new Lost Unit being brought in down here; there'd be plans to take them "out" for drinks.

Well, drinks for most of them, and hot cocoa for him and Aunt Sammy.

Any new Lost Units _would_ be he; Aunt Sammy was both the first and the last of the female Lost Units. Alvade always thought that was sad, when he thought about it at all. Because, in a way, Aunt Sammy was even more alone than any other Lost Unit.

When the head lab rat opened the door, however, Alvade saw that Aunt Sammy was the one being brought back in. She looked fairly pissed, but anyone would be after being dragged back down here to the unknown tenth circle of hell – "affectionately" referred to as Jigoku, by the Lost Units who had been transferred here from Japan Section – to be poked and prodded and shocked and "sampled" by a bunch of sadistic lab rats.

"I found _this_ wandering around outside," the guy holding his Aunt Sammy's left shoulder said – probably a Zoanoid, the self-important bastard – said, while keeping his own left hand by his side. "Figured you might want it back."

_Shit eating, cow-fucking bastard,_ Alvade snarled mentally. He'd have been willing to bet at least a few sessions down in the labs that the Zoanoid's hand was near enough to a taser, or a stun gun, or something just like that. That was probably why Aunt Sammy hadn't burned his hand with her powers, or just slammed him into the ceiling and made her getaway.

"What was the specimen doing outside of the laboratory in the first place?"

"I was down in the gym, is that _okay_ with you?" Aunt Sammy snapped.

Alvade knew that she hated being talked about as if she wasn't in the room. Then she screamed, and Alvade had to almost physically restrain himself from rushing to attack the Zoanoid hurting her. All that _that_ would have done was end up making him the target of that bastard's stun gun. And then, Aunt Sammy would go getting herself hurt more trying to help _him_; he wouldn't be able to live with himself very well if that happened.

As the bastard of a Zoanoid shoved her back into the lab, Alvade turned and followed her back inside. Their time in this hellhole was done for the day; Alvade had heard the lab rats talking about what they were going to do with their time off, but he hadn't paid much attention beyond the fact that those sadists weren't going to be handling them anymore. Aunt Sammy sighed, walking fast the way she always did when she had either finished a bout of strenuous exercise, or else – like just now – been on the wrong end of a stun gun.

"So, at least the examinations are over," he said, trying to sound optimistic. "Today's anyway."

"Least there's that," Aunt Sammy said, still holding her stomach. "They didn't inject anything into your stomach, did they?"

"No." Alvade shuddered, remembering some of the… less than pleasant experiments that had been conducted down in this hellhole. "Not this time, anyway."


	44. Familiar

"Good," Aunt Sammy muttered, folding her arms. "Let's get back to the Haven; best not to tempt fate, I think."

"Yeah," Alvade said, nodding.

As far as any of them knew, from all the shit that they had all been through, just _seeing _a Lost Unit was enough to the lab rats into a frenzy; it fit with how they acted with him or any of the others. So, it really was better to get back to Lost Haven and get out of their sights for a while. Remove the temptation, so to speak; though Alvade would have personally preferred to remove the _scientists_.

_Bastard lab rats, all of them,_ Alvade thought fiercely. Looking back up, Alvade saw that the two of them had made it back to Lost Haven at last. He also noticed that the signs on the door were still there.

The first one, the largest and hence the most immediately noticeable was the one that read: Abandon all hope, ye who enter here; the one just below it – which read "This is Lost Unit territory" – was smaller and seemed to be less easily noticeable. They were both still hanging from the door, a fact which Alvade took comfort in; it felt like a little bit of stability in a life that had precious little of it.

It was also comforting because the "Welcome to Hell, you poor bastards" sign had been taken down. The one that said "Laboratory of the Damned" was still up, though. But then, Aunt Sammy _had_ welded that one in place. _With her bare hands, no less,_ Alvade mused, laughing softly to himself as he stepped back into Lost Haven and shut the door.

"Hey Sam," Ralgax greeted calmly, looking up from his book.

Alvade had often helped Ralgax to smuggle his books in and out of the Haven. Yith, on the other hand, didn't have to worry so much about the lab rats as opposed to the cameras; that guy could talk anyone into doing anything. He'd even gotten one of the Gustav to strip himself naked and beat himself with a fish.

Halvra had taped the fun, and after they'd edited out the laughter and taunts, Yith had gotten a few of the lab rats to post copies of the altered video to the Chronos Computer Network in this base. They'd kept the original video for themselves, of course. Sometimes, after a particularly grueling day with the lab rats, the five of them would gather together in Lost Haven and watch their copy.

It made life down here a bit more bearable, even if it _didn't_ make it any easier.

As Alvade gratefully flopped back onto his bed, he saw Aunt Sammy flipping her covers into place over her body as she prepared to go to sleep; all of them needed to get what sleep they could whenever the opportunity presented itself. Soon, Alvade himself began to fall asleep.

XxXxX

_-So, mommy's real name was Melissa?-_

_-Yes, Kenji, it was,-_ Imakarum said, as he gently steered his son through the large corridors of Chronos' Dead Sea Plant.

They had arrived at the heliport a mere fifteen minutes ago, and Imakarum had naturally taken it upon himself to help Kenji find his way through the long, branching halls and corridors that lead from the main heliport into the upper levels of the facility. They had been making their way upward ever since.

Lord Alkanphel had requested his and Kenji's presence at his side; Imakarum was not about to disobey his master.

_-And she really came all the way from America?-_

_-Yes, Kenji-chan,-_ Imakarum responded, smiling indulgently. _-I believe that she has relatives in Maine.-_

_-Oh. Does that mean that _we_ have family over there, Dad?-_

_-They're merely humans, Kenji-chan,-_ he said, chuckling gently as he ruffled Kenji's fringe. _-The rest of the Council is more of a family to us than some group of humans could ever hope to be.-_

_-Well, yeah,-_ Kenji said, sighing and leaning further into his embrace, placing his right hand on Imakarum's shoulder armor so that he could comfortably rest his head there. _-But, they _would_ know something about mommy, wouldn't they?-_

This time, Imakarum himself sighed. _-You're not going to give up until I agree to this, are you my Kenji-chan?-_

_-Uh-Uh.-_ he felt it when his son shook his head.

_-Very well, then,-_ he said, with a yet softer sigh as he toyed a bit with Kenji's ponytail. _-I will see if there is a way for us to take a short leave in Maine. But only _after_ we complete work on the Ark project. For that, I suggest you retire to our room for some sleep; I'll come and join you after I have informed Lord Hamilcal of our arrival.-_

_-But Dad, I don't even know where our room is. And this place is so big! What if I get lost?-_

_-We're almost there as things stand, Kenji-chan,- _Imakarum said, gently ruffling Kenji's fringe. _-I'll tuck you in first, then I'll go and report our presence to Lord Hamilcal.-_

_-All right, Dad,-_ Kenji said, smiling as Imakarum let him into their room.

Patting Kenji on the back as his son passed in front of him, Imakarum helped Kenji to remove his cape and armor and followed him as his son climbed into bed. Then he pulled the blankets up to his shoulders, and kissed him on his upturned right cheek.

_-Good night, Dad.-_

_-Good night, my Kenji-chan.-_

Stroking Kenji's hair a last time, Imakarum left their room as quietly as he could manage. He knew that he _could_ have made his report on their arrival from the comfort of his and Kenji's room. However, Imakarum knew that it would be far more respectful if he were to make his report to Lord Hamilcal in person. Since Kenji had fallen asleep some time before, Imakarum would take that task on for himself as well.

Stepping out of the doorway so that it could slide closed, Imakarum began to make his way down the long, winding corridors of Chronos' Dead Sea Plant. He knew that the most logical place to start his search for Lord Hamilcal would be in the Conference Room, as Chronos' Second Zoalord would want to keep himself informed of the arrivals of his fellow Zoalords. He could sense the presence of some of his fellow Zoalords – those besides Lord Hamilcal and Kenji – within the Dead Sea Plant. However, none of them had anywhere near as much power as Lord Alkanphel, so he knew that that his master had not arrived as yet.

Brushing gently against Kenji's mind as he slept, Imakarum found that his son was dreaming of eating waffles. A simple dream, and perhaps even more childish than some of the others that he had observed before. Still… _I will have to remember to bring him some of those when he wakes up tomorrow morning,_ Imakarum mused, chuckling softly as he gently disengaged from Kenji's mind so that he wouldn't disturb his son.

Continuing on his way through the corridors, passing Zoanoids and janitorial staff on his way to the Conference Room so that he could meet with Lord Hamilcal, Imakarum watched calmly as they parted smoothly before him. He was one of their superiors and such was what was expected of them, and Imakarum would have been rather annoyed if they had done anything else. All of them clearly understood that no Zoalord was to be trifled with; a rather gratifying fact, that, since he had been rather thoroughly… incapacitated during his first – before this, his _only_ – journey that he had made to the smallest of Chronos' three large stations that had been almost completely devoted to scientific research.


	45. Plans

They'd arrived at the base about ten minutes ago by his watch, and that Fifth Guyver kid had ensconced himself in the commissary once the two of them had made it through the requisite security check-points. Kyle found that he could understand the kid's reasons; once the kid had shed his armor he'd looked like he was running on _fumes_. Of course, considering the fact that he had yet to make his full report to Commander Makashima – including the Fifth Guyver's new armor and it's ability to operate outside of normal time somehow – Kyle knew that he wouldn't have the chance to ask the kid how he was holding up for some time.

_Quite_ some time, if the amount of interest that Commander Makashima was showing in the upgraded armor that the Fifth Guyver had access to was any indication.

"So, this new armor that Crouger showed you has the ability to transcend time itself?"

"That was my observation, sir," he said. "I'm not aware of any limits that the armor has, with regards to the number of passengers it can carry when it transitions, but at least now we have _some_ idea of the armor's capabilities."

"Of course," Commander Makashima said, looking far more thoughtful than Kyle had ever seen him appear in the past. "It will most likely prove a great deal simpler to determine the other capabilities of this upgraded armor." For a moment, the Commander's expression became slightly more unreadable than usual. "Where is Crouger now?"

"He's in the commissary, sir," he said, pausing for a moment as a thought came to him. "He seemed to be rather strained from his use of the armor, at least given what I saw of him after he shed it, sir."

"It could simply be a function of his inexperience in using the armor itself," Commander Makashima said, his expression clearly indicating that he was thinking aloud. "For all their superficial differences, both Crouger and Fukamachi are very similar in that respect: neither of them has yet explored the full potential of their armor." The silence stretched for a few moments, the Commander's eyes narrowed in thought. "Sergeant Reese, take me to him."

"Yes, sir."

Commander Makashima stood up, making his way out from behind his desk and joining Kyle in front of it. Saluting the Commander, Kyle moved to the door and opened it as both common courtesy and their respective ranks dictated. Together, the two of them made their way to the commissary; to the meeting with Ryan Crouger that the Commander wanted to have.

XxXxX

As he finished off his fourth steak, washing it down with yet another glass of water, Ryan noticed that he had gained another audience. And not just from Shizu, who had been in full-on "mother hen" mode just about as soon as he'd shed both his enhanced and "normal" Guyver armor, but more of Agito's Thunderbolt soldiers. Most of them were just giving sidelong glances at either him or the large pile of plates around him, but there _were_ a few guys who kept staring at him like he was the star attraction at a sideshow.

_)Speaking of which, I'm kind of surprised that your old pal hasn't tried to contact you, yet. This _is_ the place he's been staying, right kid?(_

_)This is the last place Sho mentioned when he contacted me, yah. Still, it could just be that a certain someone hasn't told him I'm here yet,(_ Ryan sent back, then looked up at Shizu as she brought him yet another steak. "Thanks for all the food," he said, smiling up at her as she set the plate down in front of him. "You're real hospitable to a guy who just shows up without much warning, you know?"

"Think nothing of it," Shizu said, smiling down at him from where she stood holding his empty plate. "It's really no trouble having you here. Besides, you need to keep your strength up, so that you can continue fighting Chronos with Master Agito. And, considering the way you traveled here, I think it's even more important that you eat, Ryan."

"You never _did_ tell us just how you managed to get here without Chronos' agents spotting you," one of the soldiers said, giving him a hard look from over the rim of his mug. "Reese says you flew over most of the city to get here; in broad daylight, wearing full armor, and carrying one of our own soldiers on your back, no less. Now, just how do you figure that any of us are supposed to believe that you're on our side after you go pulling a stupid, reckless stunt like _that_?" the soldier was glaring openly at him now, as if he was daring him to answer.

Ryan, for his part, grinned; he was definitely going to have a bit of fun with this one. "Would you believe I traveled through time to get here?"

"No," the soldier snapped, his glare looking all the harder.

"Well, then I guess I really can't help you," he said, laughing deliberately and giving his head a slight toss as he turned back to his steak.

_)That's one way to tell 'em, kid,(_ Elegen sent, giving the distinct mental impression of a laugh.

Ryan chuckled softly, just as the Thunderbolt soldier who'd been attempting to question him stood up and began to advance on him with a distinct aura of menace. That, of course, was when Mr. Agito Makashima came striding in, his usual "I am completely in charge, here" expression on his face.

_)Saved by the jerk, eh kid?(_

"Well, this has to be one of the few times that I'm _actually_ happy to see you," he said, smirking at Agito even as Elegen gave the mental impression of snickering. "So, what brings you all the way out to a quaint little place like _this_?"

As per usual, Agito ignored pretty much everything Ryan had to say. "Crouger, come with me."

"What, no hug? Not even a handshake?" Ryan drawled, grinning in a way that was just this side of mocking. "C'mon; it's your old buddy Ryan, here. I was honestly expecting a better reception from _you_, old pal of mine."

"Don't test me, Crouger," Agito said, almost snappishly enough to be noticed by someone who _wasn't_ actively listening for that kind of thing.

He just gave a certain Dark Guyver a bland, unassuming smile. Then, once Agito had turned away, Ryan swept up a nearby spoon and pitched it at the back of his head.

"Sir!"

The shout came from that same Thunderbolt soldier who had been trying to play twenty questions with Ryan while he had been trying to enjoy those delicious steaks that Shizu had kept supplying him with. It also caused Mr. Agito Makashima to snap around really quickly; the end result of which was that the spoon that had once been aimed at the _back_ of his head ended up conking him dead center on the forehead, instead.

"Thanks!" Ryan called, grinning cheerily at the Thunderbolt soldier who'd made that possible.

"Crouger!" Agito all but snarled, stomping back over to the table where Ryan sat with his now-empty plate in front of him, and proceeding to yank Ryan to his feet by the collar of his shirt. "_What_ did you just throw at me?"

"It was a spoon, sir," the Thunderbolt soldier reported, holding said spoon up for inspection.

"You threw a _spoon_ at me?" Agito demanded, his tone as sharp and icy as Ryan had ever heard it before.

Most people would have been intimidated; Ryan wasn't most people. "Now _why_ would I go and do a silly thing like _that_?"

Opening his hand, Agito closed his eyes and seemed to draw back into himself the way Ryan himself tended to do when he needed a break from something that was really tweaking his nerves.

"Crouger, will you come with me?"

"Ask me nicely, and I just might consider it," he drawled, tilting his head and giving Agito a sly, under-the-eyelashes look.

"_Now_, Crouger," Agito snapped.

"Would it be too much to ask that you use my _first_ name, for a change?" he asked, an annoyed tilt to his head.

The Jerk Guyver just gave him a sort of disdainful look, earning an irritated smirk in return. One of the nearby Thunderbolts, either getting fed up with the free exchange of snark or acting on the unspoken orders of his boss – possibly both at once – stalked over and grabbed Ryan's right arm. Hauling him out from behind the table, clearly ignoring Ryan's own protests and rather pointed remarks about his personal habits and sexual preferences, the Thunderbolt soldier stood in front of Agito and waited for further orders.

"Where would you like me to stash him for you, sir?"

"Just follow me, Meyers," Agito said, barely stopping for a moment as his eyes flicked over Ryan.

Ryan for his part, flipped the bird at Agito's back once the Jerk Guyver's goons had stopped looking his way. The Thunderbolt soldier's beefy grip on his right upper-arm had gotten just a _little_ too tight for his taste, but Ryan figured that whenever they got to where they were all going, then the Thunderbolt would let him go. And, if not, Ryan would punch said Thunderbolt _directly_ in the eye.

_)Yeah, kid; that's _really_ going to endear you to Agito and company.(_

_)It'd make me feel better about the situation,(_ Ryan sent, blinking as he saw the long corridor that he was being frog-marched through for a brief moment before Elegen started "talking" again.

_)That'd probably be the case with you; right up until they beat you down and stuff you in the brig.(_

_)I really don't see these guys being the type to take prisoners, Snake-head. I don't think they _have_ a brig.(_

_)If you say so, kid. Still- Hey, I think we're there.(_

Sure enough, when Ryan regained full awareness of the outside world again, he saw that their group of four had stopped inside a bare room, and that Agito was glaring at him again.

"Do you _always_ have to space out at inconvenient times, Crouger?

"Only when I'm bored," he said easily, covering his slip with the ease of long practice. "Care to fill me in on just what you were babbling about while your goons dragged me here?"

_That_ little comment earned him one of the Jerk Guyver's infamous scathing glares; he smirked back in response. "I _said_ that I am rather interested in the power that your enhanced Guyver has displayed, Crouger."

"What?" Ryan scoffed, thoroughly enjoying the irony. "You mean, now that you have someone _else_ to tell you about what my Giga armor can do, _now_ you're interested in it? You seemed perfectly willing to ignore me when _I_ was telling you about the things that my Giga armor could do."

"_You_ have been known to exaggerate, Crouger," the Jerk Guyver said, his eyes narrowing. "However, I know that Sergeant Reese would not report anything to me unless he had confirmed it for himself."

_)Behave yourself, kid; no Terminator jokes.(_

_)You really think I'd go and do something so obvious? Just because this guy's name so _happens_ to be Reese? Give me _some_ credit, Snake-head.(_


	46. Ryan

Before Elegen could think up anything else to say, Ryan noticed that Agito was glaring at him again.

"Did you hear _any_ of what I just said, Crouger?"

"No," he said, grinning pleasantly in the face of Agito's obvious anger. "Care to repeat it for me?"

The Jerk Guyver's eyes narrowed, a clear sign that Ryan's cavalier attitude was starting to annoy him. Fuck him.

"I _said_ that I would like to personally test the capabilities of your enhanced Guyver armor, Crouger."

That same neutral tone was back, as if Mr. Agito Makashima had just thought the idea up on a whim; like he could take it or leave it. Ryan scoffed; he could clearly recall just how completely derisive a certain Jerk Guyver had been that first time, when he had told him and Sho about what had gone on with him, that weird ship, and the Giga Unit.

"Oh, is _that_ a fact? You mean you actually _want_ to use my Giga Unit? Even after… hmm, now what was it you told me, after I told you about how I'd gotten my Giga Unit? Oh, _right_, you told me to stop telling such wild stories," he chuckled, narrowing his own eyes as he gave Mr. Agito Makashima a distinctly superior smirk. "Doesn't sound like such a wild story _now_, does it?" he paused for effect, making an exaggerated "considering" expression. "Still, making you eat your own words _is_ pretty fun, but I think I'm going to need just a _little_ something extra for my trouble."

"I suggest you do what the boss tells you, and not make more problems for yourself, Guyver V."

Ryan turned, smirking widely at the Thunderbolt soldier who had just said that. "Bite me, Chachi, I'm on a roll here. Besides, your boss never _told_ me to do anything. He _asked_, which I wouldn't have thought he had the manners to do in the first place," he smirked all the wider, even as the two Thunderbolts present glared at him. "But, it's like I said before: I want something more for my trouble."

"What more do you want, Crouger?" Agito asked, just a _mite_ snappishly.

Grinning to make the Cheshire Cat proud, Ryan continued. "I want you to admit, right here in front of these two impartial witnesses, that I was right, you were wrong, and you're an ass."

"What?" If Agito's tone was any flatter, Ryan could have sworn that it would have been two-dimensional.

"Did I _mumble_?" Ryan asked, raising an eyebrow; a rhetorical question of course. "I was right, you were wrong, and you're an ass. And I want you to admit it right here, right now."

The Jerk Guyver looked like someone had dipped him in ice: icy eyes glaring like it was the only expression he had ever had. Ryan was deeply tempted to stick his tongue out, but he held off on that. A bit of mental prodding from Elegen prompted Ryan to return his attention to the soldiers holding him; neither of them looked particularly happy.

Ryan honestly didn't give two shits about them, but they _were_ a fair bit bigger than he was, so he might not be able to take them both down without a little outside help; or a little _inside_ help, as the case was. Still, he didn't _really _think he'd need that kind of help to take on these idiots.

"I suggest you shut your mouth and do as you're told, kid."

"Sorry, that's not really my style," he said, making an effort to shrug in mock helplessness, annoying as it was to do with guys holding onto his arms.

"Just do as you've been asked, Crouger," the Jerk Guyver snapped.

"I already told you what you needed to get my cooperation, oh mighty King of Bastards. Don't make me repeat myself."

Agito gave him the most scathing, disdainful, I-want-you-to-_die -_nowglare that Ryan had yet seen on the Jerk Guyver's face. It wasn't particularly intimidating, considering all he'd seen during the course of his fights with Chronos, but it had to be _some_ kind of record for most hatred displayed on a human face. Well, except for those times he'd fought Imakarum, but that guy was just plain psycho.

Besides, he wasn't really human, so he didn't count.

Dropping into a crouch suddenly, Ryan managed to escape the grasp of the Thunderbolt holding him; turning as fast as he could, Ryan slammed a particularly vicious uppercut into the soldier-boy's balls. Said soldier-boy folded like an empty sack, cursing a blue streak. The second one circled and tried to grab him; Ryan turned with him as he moved, ducking out of the way and then springing across the floor.

Straightening quickly, darting inside the soldier's guard and stomping his instep, then slamming his right knee into the man's chin when he doubled over.

"Crouger!" Agito shouted, his voice loud and commanding; brimming with unspoken threats and various other Not Pleasant things.

"Already told you, King Bastard, either use my _first_ name, or shut the hell up."

Dodging a kick from the first Thunderbolt – he had to hand it to the guy: not many people would have been up for a scrap so soon after being punched _there_ – Ryan lunged forward and slammed his right foot into the soldier's gut. A slight prickling on the back of his neck let him know that there was someone else setting up to attack him from behind. Ryan ducked and kicked, not at all surprised to see Mr. Agito Makashima getting into the fight himself.

Agito jumped over his sweep kick, forcing Ryan to spring out of the way of the Jerk Guyver's retaliatory punch. Driving forward, taking the next punch that Agito aimed his way on his upper left arm, Ryan drove his own right fist into the older boy's gut. The Jerk Guyver staggered back briefly, but he righted himself quickly and tried to punch Ryan in the head.

Ducking, Ryan headbutted Agito, then stepped back quickly to get himself out of the way of any further retaliation. Just as he'd been expecting, Agito tried to punch him in the head again. When the Jerk Guyver opened his hand, Ryan took the opportunity to lunge forward and sink his teeth into the soft, fleshy part of Agito's right hand; just between his thumb and fingers.

Grinding his jaw to drive his teeth in deeper, Ryan started to taste the harsh, coppery tang of fresh blood. He could hear the Jerk Guyver yelling various unkind things – both to him and about him – but he wasn't really paying attention to any of that. Kicking out, even as he released his hold on Agito's hand, Ryan just managed to catch the edge of Agito's right kneecap even as the other Guyver made a quick dodge backwards.

Out of the corner of his right eye, Ryan saw the two Thunderbolt soldiers that had been stationed in the room advancing with obvious ill intent. Fortunately, he knew just how to handle _that_ little problem.

"What's the matter, King Bastard? Can't fight me without your goons? You're such a loser," for just a second the Jerk Guyver looked like he was going to have an apoplectic fit; which was really funny when you thought about it.

"Just stay out of this!"

Really, if there was one thing _guaranteed _to fuck you over at inopportune moments, it was excessive pride. "_That's_ better," he said, deliberately chuckling. "Just you and me. After all, you wouldn't want to have your goons propping you up _all_ the time," he ducked as Agito swung at him again. "They might start thinking you can't handle things on your own." Ryan punched Agito in his right temple, following up with a swift kick to his gut while he was still stunned. "They might start thinking you're a _wuss_!"

Even the fact that Agito punched him in the mouth right after he said that wouldn't make Ryan forget the look on his face. Laughing in spite of the blood trickling from his split lip – distinct from the blood he'd swallowed after biting the Jerk Guyver's hand – Ryan dodged out of the way of Agito's uppercut and darted forward to punch Agito in the gut. They were both bleeding: Agito from the back of his hand, and Ryan from his split lower lip.

For Ryan, though, this was the most fun he'd had in awhile.


	47. Guyvers

Sho had heard, from Shizu of all people, that Ryan had come back to Japan; not to stay, but to offer an alliance between Agito's Zeus' Thunderbolts and the ACTF that he and Sean worked with. He was glad to know that Ryan and Sean _hadn't_ been killed when Mr. Murakami attacked their base. Closing his eyes, Sho sighed; thinking about Mr. Murakami always made him depressed.

Ryan would just tell him to stop, but Ryan had never _met_ Mr. Murakami.

He'd never known how dedicated Mr. Murakami was to fighting Chronos; how kind he was, and how horrible it was to have someone who had once done their best to protect you trying to kill you now. Still, it was good to be able to see Ryan again; good to know that he was still fighting. Their battle against Chronos weren't going to stop just because the company had managed to take over the world.

None of them would _ever_ allow Chronos to remain in control, the way they were now; not after they had killed so many people and done such horrible things to so many others.

Not after what they had done to Mr. Murakami… and to his son, Kenji. He, Tetsuro, Mizuki, and Natsuki, had watched the announcement that Chronos had made to the world after that single, terrible day. He had recognized Mr. Murakami right away, but Tetsuro had been the one to realize that Kenji himself was a member of the Council of Zoalords. Kenji, with the body of an adult and the armor of a Chronos Zoalord.

Poor Kenji; Mr. Murakami must have been heartbroken, to see his son like that after all he'd done to protect him from Chronos. And Kenji… having his body changed like that, he must have been _terrified_. One of the other Zoalords must have been controlling him while he said his part of Chronos' message.

Sho hated the thought of that.

Since he'd already asked a few of Agito's soldiers where he and Ryan were, Sho continued on his way toward Agito's office. He wondered if the two of them had finalized the alliance yet, he wondered what kind of assistance they could get from the ACTF, too. The ACTF were in America; their fight with Chronos was there. And, while he knew that _Ryan_ had a way of quickly covering large amounts of distance – draining as it was – Sho was fairly sure that none of the ACTF soldiers could travel that fast.

Still, maybe Sean and Ryan would be the ones working with them _directly_; at least for now, while Chronos was so powerful and dangerous to all of them.

When he reached the door, Sho was surprised to hear the meaty sound of a punch landing. Opening the door he rushed in, just in time to see Agito go staggering backwards. The sound that he'd heard outside the door, combined with the fact that Ryan still had his right fist extended and aimed for Agito's head, meant that Ryan had probably been the one to start the fight.

"What are you two _doing_?" he demanded, hurrying into the room so he could put himself between Ryan and Agito before any more punches could be thrown. "We're supposed to be fighting _Chronos_, not each other!"

When he got his first good look at the two of them, Sho realized that they had been fighting for longer than he'd thought. Agito had a black eye, and his lower lip had been split twice; while Ryan had dried blood caked on his face, coming from both his mouth and nose.

"Stay out of this, Fukamachi," Agito said coldly, his tone almost a snarl. "Crouger and I will be able to settle our differences _without_ your help."

Agito tried to punch Ryan in the head; Ryan ducked, then punched Agito in the stomach.

"Just stay back, Sho," Ryan said, shifting his weight and then trying to kick Agito's legs out from under him. "King Bastard needs to have his ego deflated. _And_, since no one _else_ seems to be willing to take on that job, I've officially volunteered myself."

Agito jumped over Ryan's kick, and Ryan quickly sprang out of the way of Agito's retaliatory stomp; Sho found himself watching the fight in stunned incomprehension. It seemed like they were evenly matched; neither Ryan nor Agito looked like they were gaining any kind of upper hand. Both of them had an equal number of injuries, though not in all the same places.

"Here's a trick I learned from Mike Tyson!"

Ryan lunged forward, but his head blocked Sho's view of what he was actually _doing._ When Agito yelped in pain, dodging backward gave him the impression that whatever Ryan had done was particularly painful. And, judging by the way that Ryan was smirking, he'd intended it to be just that way.

"What did you think you were trying to _do_, Crouger? You could have easily torn my ear off."

"Well, that _was_ the basic idea, King Bastard!" Ryan laughed.

Sho noticed then that Agito's left ear was bleeding; it hadn't looked like Ryan was doing anything with his hands, though, and neither he nor Agito had been using any weapons… Had Ryan _bitten_ him?

"What are you two even fighting about, anyway?" he asked.

Of course, it was clear to anyone who had seen the two of them in the same room for more than a few minutes that Ryan and Agito would never be the best of friends, but he'd thought that they would have at least been able to _cooperate_. For the sake of the resistance, if nothing else. Chronos was still in control of the world; still a danger to everyone they cared about.

"Well, the Walking Ego was being an asshole again, so-"

"I have a _name,_ Crouger," Agito snapped.

"Yeah? Well, I have a _first_ one, King Bastard."

"Is that what all of this is about?" he asked, surprised that a fight could have been started over something so simple.

XxXxX

Fukamachi sounded confused, but then Fukamachi had always sounded confused when he and Crouger would have their more… physical disagreements. Crouger was an uneasy ally at best, and thoroughly infuriating at worst. The fact that the younger Guyver also possessed the key to obtaining power comparable to someone who held the Gigantic – and, in some ways greater – did provide him with at least _some_ incentive to be civil, at the very least. Still, if Crouger had not been so idiotically adamant about his preferred semantics, then this entire petty, pointless fight could have been avoided entirely.

After Crouger had punched him in the face again – Agito berating himself for the lapse in attention that had allowed that, minor as it ultimately had been – he recovered to find that Fukamachi had interposed himself between the two of them once more. That could become rather annoying, if he made a habit out of it.

"Stop it, both of you!" Fukamachi shouted, for the second time since the younger Guyver had discovered what he and Crouger were doing.

The only other time that he could recall Fukamachi sounding so aggressive was when Gyou had killed Murakami. Even then, it had been more of an unfocused, impotent rage. Perhaps it would not be prudent to give Fukamachi a target for his rage; Crouger evidently thought so as well, since he made no aggressive moves himself.

Still, the fact that he was being cowed by _Fukamachi_ of all people did not sit well with him at all. For one thing, Crouger was more than likely to mock him for such a concession; no matter that he _did_ consider Fukamachi a friend, Crouger was not blind to his shortcomings. For another, Fukamachi only showed this kind of will when he had been pushed beyond all bounds of rationality.

Such a state was not to be taken lightly.

"Will someone please tell me what this is all about? Fukamachi asked once more.

_This_ was what he had come to expect from Fukamachi: weakness, indecisiveness, and passivity. Fukamachi's rage, useful when it was properly directed, passed as quickly as it had ever come. It left only the weak-willed, uncertain boy that he had grown so used to working with over all these years.

"Crouger seems to have some sort of a problem with the way I address him," he said calmly, then yelled in response to Crouger's backhanded slap across the right side of his head.

"Ryan!"

"King Bastard here doesn't seem to recognize that what he's calling me annoys me," Crouger turned to fully face him, his expression one of mixed annoyance and distaste. "I am _not_ one of your toy soldiers, and if you continue treating me like I am, I _will_ kick your ass again."

"Agito, why _don't_ you ever call Ryan by his first name?" Fukamachi asked.

There were many answers to that question; not that he was particularly inclined to speak of them. Crouger was an annoyance; a random element who seemed to relish being such, and hence needed to be put in his place. Crouger also seemed to take a perverse pleasure in finding new ways to insult, belittle, and mock him. Therefore, it seemed that _this_ was the only way that he could cause Crouger even a fraction of the annoyance that he so clearly worked to cause him when they were forced to work with one another.

Still, if this new armor of Crouger's was indeed capable of transcending time itself…

"I apologize, Ryan," he said, acting to placate Crouger before their petty squabbling could escalate into something actually dangerous. "I suppose I _have_ been too quick to dismiss your assessment of your enhanced Guyver Unit. Will you allow me to use it?"

There was not even a flicker of suppressed annoyance on Crouger's face when he smiled. He might have disliked the younger Guyver rather completely, but he was forced to admit that he had very good emotional control, at least when he bothered to control himself at all.

"Sure," Crouger said, giving Agito a smile that he did not know how to interpret. "You just have to call it."

He wondered for a moment about the expression of carefully controlled amusement on Crouger's face. He doubted that any of the other occupants of the room, Fukamachi in particular, had spotted it; as well, since he was the focus of that expression, Agito wondered just what inane thing Crouger was planning. It could not be too inane, or particularly elaborate; Crouger had little preparation time, and no one in this room would be inclined to help him.

For various reasons.


	48. Zeus

Still, Crouger was not particularly inclined toward subterfuge, provided he stood to gain too little from it. He would also have told Fukamachi anything of import about the enhanced Guyver armor that he wore; Fukamachi would have come to him with any concerns that he had about it. Crouger was most likely attempting to unnerve him.

It was a ploy that would have worked on Fukamachi, uncertain as he was about nearly everything, but he was not Fukamachi. _Well played, Crouger; but remember who it is you're dealing with._

"Bio-boost!"

The armor of his own Unit wrapped around him, and Agito took a brief moment to revel in the feeling of invincibility and power it granted him. Mentally reaching for the connection that he felt to the Gigantic armor, Agito sought out the doubtless-similar connection that existed between him and the enhanced armor that Crouger had described. After a few moments spent searching, he found it.

The sense he had of the enhanced armor that Crouger had used was subtly different than that which he had of the Gigantic, but that was only to be expected. Crouger's enhanced armor was clearly different from the Gigantic in every respect possible.

"Guyver!"

He felt a strange sort of numbness spreading throughout his body as the enhanced armor bonded to him. He had been expecting _that_ as well. As in the case of the Gigantic, the enhanced armor that Crouger favored was a great deal taller than even the tallest human alive.

It was also very thin – almost appearing skeletal – and hence it had been very easy for him to come to believe that the armor that Crouger favored was weak in comparison to the Gigantic itself. However, given what he had found out about the armor, he was more willing to overlook its most likely negligible strength – likely no more than that of an unenhanced Guyver – in favor of its newly revealed power.

The numbness faded slowly, leaving him to accustom himself to the new perspective he was provided by being the tallest person in the room. It was not so great as the shift in perspective granted by the Gigantic, likely meaning that this new armor-enhancer was shorter than the former. Not by very much, however, given the fact that he was still capable of seeing over the heads of everyone in the room.

"Interesting," he muttered.

He was already searching through the mental impressions of what this Guyver-enhancer was capable of. Apparently, this enhancer also possessed a shield – however, upon closer examination, it seemed that the shield was different than that possessed by the Gigantic – but that was not what he had been searching for.

What he wanted was the power to transcend time, the _only_ unique ability offered by this particular Guyver-enhancer; of course, considering all the power that all Guyvers possessed, that was all that was needed.

Once he had found just what he sought, the power that Crouger seemed so familiar with already, he concentrated more deeply. Accessing data from the Control Medal always took concentration, and this was no different; once he had grasped how to use the time-transcending ability granted to those who used this particular Guyver-enhancer, he turned to the two soldiers who had accompanied him: Reese and Dawson.

"I want all of the interior doors in this area of the base opened," he ordered.

If what Reese had said about the armor was indeed true, the only way for him to get through an unopened door would be to destroy it. There was nothing to be gained by destroying his own facility. Watching as Reese took care of contacting the main control room, Agito waited until he had received confirmation of the doors' status.

Blocking out everything else as he focused on the new power that this Guyver-enhancer granted to him, he willed it to activate. For a moment, as he was looking around at the scenery and the unchanged environs of the room, he thought that nothing had happened.

"Crouger, what is the meaning of this?"

The younger Guyver, aggravating and juvenile as he was, was more than likely laughing at him. However, when he finally stood in front of the boy, Agito found that he was doing no such thing. Crouger had turned to face Fukamachi, and had evidently started to speak; however, the fact that Crouger's mouth was frozen open, and no sound was emerging at all, gave him the feeling that something firmly out of the ordinary had indeed happened.

"Crouger?"

Making his way closer to where Crouger and Fukamachi stood, apparently speaking to one another, all without making the slightest sound or movement, he took a moment to take stock of his surroundings. The entire room, he noticed then, was unnaturally still and silent. Nothing at all moved, with the obvious exception of Agito himself; and the only sounds that reached him were those of his own bio-boosted physiology.

His heartbeat, in the absence of any other sound, was what he was most keenly aware of.

However, underlying the few sounds that he was aware of, there was a strange vibration, something that could only vaguely be described. Still, it seemed like some kind of resonance; a subsonic hum that Agito could vaguely feel rattling through him. The resonance, combined with the lack of natural sounds, combined to give Agito the impression that he was not quite a part of the real world anymore.

In a very real sense, that was just what had happened.

Making his way slowly out of the room, Agito headed for the main area of this facility. If he _was _truly moving outside of normal time, as his own experience and Reese's report both seemed to suggest, then this new ability he was given access to needed to be tested. He needed to learn the full scope of this power, so that he could turn it against Chronos all the more easily.


	49. Ennui

Alvade sat back on his bed, a half-carved bar of soap clutched not quite firmly in his right hand. It was going to be a cat, he knew that much, but for the moment it looked like an unformed blob; like every one of his other carvings, really. Ralgax was writing – or drawing, Alvade could never be quite sure which – and Halvra was folding yet another paper crane. Aunt Sammy was sketching, and Yith was making one of his elaborate ink paintings.

Looking up from his carving, Alvade noticed that there was an open bag on the bed beside him.

"You're still collecting those old bottlecaps?" he called.

"Yeah," Halvra said, picking up a handful of said bottlecaps and letting them fall back into the bag with a steady 'plink' sound.

"Figured you'd hedge your bets, since you didn't have a Zoaform like the rest of us, eh?" he joked, curious but not enough to want to intrude on Halvra's privacy; privacy was really all they had, when you came right down to it.

"Nah," Halvra said, not sounding particularly annoyed by the question. "I used to collect these all the time when I was a kid. This just helps me remember those times," Halvra sighed, staring down at the bag with a depressed expression on his face. "I miss those times."

Alvade sighed; he hadn't meant to depress one of his few real friends when he'd asked about the bottlecap collection. He'd just been curious; a bit _too_ curious, as it turned out. Just as he was starting to think up something to say, something to make Halvra feel better, the door slid open and one of the lab rats walked in. The man was radiating enough self-important smugness that Alvade wanted to strangle him on the spot.

"Specimen 152-3873, you're wanted in the main laboratory," the lab rat said, folding his arms and looking like he expected Halvra to just jump right up and follow him like an obedient little dog.

Actually, knowing _those_ bastards, he probably did.

As Halvra got up at last, moving from his comfortable spot slowly and with obvious reluctance, Aunt Sammy called him.

"You didn't finish your crane."

"I'll finish it when I get back," Halvra said, turning slightly to flash a rueful smile at the rest of them. "Well, barring the long nap I'm probably going to need after they get done screwing around with me."

As Halvra made his way out, trailing as far behind the lab rat as he could without risking a shock-baton to the gut for "insubordination", Alvade felt uneasy. But, then he _always_ felt that way when one of his friends ended up in the "tender care" of those bastard lab rats. Helplessness wasn't a feeling that he was fond of at all, and the obvious fact was that he couldn't do _one goddamned __**thing**_ to help any of his friends when they were in those situations.

Either he'd end up on the carving table or in a 'tank himself, or else the lab rats would just tranq him and toss him back into Lost Haven. It was far from an ideal situation – about as far as you could get, at least without bringing in Guyvers – but if he kept thinking about those kinds of things long enough, they would just make him angry. If he got angry enough, he might start trying to fight back; everyone _knew_ what happened to Lost Units who fought back.

That was what the incinerator chutes were for.

Taking a deep, calming breath as he turned his attention back to his carving, Alvade tried not to think about what those lab rats were doing to Halvra. He'd be back soon, take a nap, and then Aunt Sammy would probably give him some chocolate from her stash; the same way she always did when one of the others got back from a session of poking, prodding, and general unpleasantness with the lab rats.

Life would go on the way it always had in Lost Haven: full of small tragedies and uncertainty, but made more bearable by the presence of his friends and fellow Lost Units.


	50. Masterful

A cursory examination of his surroundings had merely served to confirm that the Guyver-enhancer that Crouger favored did indeed have the power to transcend time. As he moved through the corridors, silent and invisible to all senses and sensors that might have been trained on him, Agito reflected on just how much use he could make of this new power. The ability to move _outside_ of normal time would be invaluable in his war with Chronos; he would be able to obliterate an entire processing plant down to its foundations all while its pitiful Zoanoid defenders stood by and watched, helpless to stand against him.

Even Chronos' vaunted Zoalords would not be able to stand against his power now.

A sudden and almost overwhelming feeling of weakness and dizziness overcame him then, forcing Agito to his knees. As the subsonic resonance stopped, Agito thought that he could almost see the Guyver-enhancer as it tore itself free of his body and returned to the boost-dimension without an audible sound. Rising back to his feet quickly, not wanting to display weakness if he could absolutely avoid it, Agito realized that he was on the edge of complete collapse. Not wanting his Unit to go rampant without his consciousness to control it – the way any Guyver would, once a certain amount of time had passed – he shed the armor.

Then, his energy all but gone, he was only able to take a single step before he collapsed to the floor. _Crouger; he must have known this would happen,_ was his last conscious thought, before he succumbed to the unconsciousness that was swiftly overtaking him.

XxXxX

Once Ryan had managed to regain his sense of just where in the hell Mr. Agito Makashima – or King Bastard; whichever – had turned up after he'd used the Giga Unit, he'd had to bite the inside of his right cheek fairly hard to keep from cackling.

_)That was a lot longer than _we've_ ever been in Hypertime, kid. And I see you didn't tell our old buddy Agito one little bit about the side-effects.(_

_)Well, you have to understand, Snake-head: he never asked,(_ he said, giving the mental impression of a vaguely sinister chuckle. _)King Bastard can very well find out _that_ little factoid the hard way, just like I did. Who knows, it just might knock some sense into that big, empty head of his.(_

Ryan regained full awareness, noticed that there was no one else in the room with him, and decided to check in with Sho. _+Where's the fire?+_

_+Oh; Ryan. You seemed like you were thinking really hard about something. I didn't want to disturb you, but there's something wrong with Agito.+_

_When is there not?_ he mused, rolling his eyes as he left the room, following his sense of where Sho had gotten himself off to. He could almost _hear_ Elegen snickering in the back of his mind as he closed ranks with Sho and fell into step beside him.

"So, you got a fix on him yet?" he ventured, ignoring the two goons he'd bypassed on his way.

"He's been taken to the infirmary," Sho said, sounding a lot more worried than Ryan was, personally. But then, _he_ had the advantage of knowing just what it was that the Almighty Bastard King had gotten himself into; and not caring much, besides. "I don't really know what's wrong with him, but…"

"If _you_ had anything to do with this-"

"Yeah, this is me caring," he said, cutting into the soldier-boy's tirade before he could really get started.

As the four of them made their way to the infirmary, Ryan could practically _feel_ the glares boring into his back. It took a bit of doing, but he resisted the urge to turn and pull a face at the Thunderbolt soldiers walking behind him. Atkins had sent him here to find out if there was a chance that the ACTF and the Thunderbolts could work together, not to botch that chance before the matter could even be brought up.

So he was going to have to be just a _little_ more diplomatic than he usually was with people who pissed him off.

_+Ryan?+_

_+Sean, nice to hear from you again. What was so urgent that you couldn't wait for me to get back? Or did you just call me up to chat?+_

_+How are you doing over there?+_

_+I'm doing well enough, at least for a guy who can't stand the leader of the people he's trying to form an alliance with.+_

_+I guess you have a point there,+_ Sean said, chuckling over the link. _+Still, we all know you're more experienced at dealing with him than I am. That and you're a _suspicious_ little so-and-so – I mean that in the best possible way, hear me? – so you'll be the best one to spot anything he might try to pull on us.+_

_+And I'd be a lot more willing to shut him down if he tries anything sneaky. That's very utilitarian of you, Sean,+_ Ryan himself was the one to chuckle this time, low enough that Sho was the only one who seemed to notice.

_+I guess it is. By the way, what was that feeling I got through the Unit? It was like Agito just… disappeared completely for about eight __minutes. I can't help but think that had something to do with you.+_

_+Well, you'd be right about that, Sean. Agito was using my Giga Unit; you couldn't sense him through the link because he was taking in the sights in Hypertime.+_

_+Hypertime?+_

_+Yeah; I never told you about it, both because we didn't really need it back in L.A. and because it sucks energy out of you a whole hell of a lot worse than the normal-type Giga.+_

_+You _did_ take the time to actually _tell_ him about the finer points of that, right?+_

Well_… He never asked. He's really more the type to go charging in, once someone says those magic words to him.+_

_+What are those alleged magic words?+_ Sean asked dryly.

_+More power.+_ biting back a smirk, Ryan continued. _+This'll make a good lesson for him on just why not to overuse Hypertime; no matter _how_ cool it is. Hell, I think he might even _remember_ this lesson.+_

_+If the Giga didn't kill him,+_ Sean pointed out darkly.

_+The fact that we can both still sense him suggests otherwise,+_ he deadpanned. _+Besides, that thing always disengages before it does any _real_ damage. Trust me; I speak from personal experience. Still, he'll at _least_ know not to stay in Hypertime for so long. Well, at least if he ever _wants_ to use my Giga again,+_ he said, allowing himself a small, satisfied smirk.

_+I guess,+_ Sean said, still sounding a bit dubious.

_+Just think of it this way, Sean: if _I _lived through finding out just why you don't stay in Hypertime for any longer than three and a half minutes at a stretch, then you can just bet that King Bastard'll live to tell about it. Even if it _is_ just to spite me.+_

Sean didn't have anything to say to that; which was just as well, since it looked like they had all reached the infirmary already anyway.

XxXxX

As he was currently too weak to move – a fact that Crouger would be all too eager to gloat about, once he inevitably noticed – Agito had had himself propped up with enough pillows that he could at least face the younger Guyver from a semi-reclining position. Being completely supine would have made him look weak; likewise, allowing Shizu to fuss over him the way she had been doing until he had gently persuaded her to stop.

The sound of the door opening, as well as a nearby orderly's announcement, let Agito know just who it was that had just elected to visit him.

He swiftly composed himself, settling more comfortably into the bed and making an effort to appear relaxed and yet alert. While his range of responses were more strictly limited owing to the severity of his current condition, he did not particularly want either Crouger or especially Fukamachi to know just _how_ severe his current condition was. Fukamachi's sympathy – or his pity, the difference was small enough to be negligible at times – was annoying enough, and as for Crouger… it was bad enough that he was going to have to listen to the younger Guyver's gloating over their link, but the fact that it would be a secret between them and them alone gave him _some_ comfort.

Looking up as the two objects of his attention – and sometimes his annoyance – entered the room and made their way over to the bed where he'd been confined for the foreseeable future, Agito kept his face carefully expressionless while he studied the faces of his two fellow Guyvers. Fukamachi had an expression of pity on his face; something that annoyed him and gave him insights into just how weak he was in equal measures. Crouger, in stark contrast, seemed amused by the whole situation.

Not enough that Fukamachi would have noticed, but he himself was not nearly so unobservant as the younger Guyver; he could tell _just_ what was on Crouger's mind.

_+Very amusing, Crouger.+_

_+I'm sure I don't know _what_ you're talking about.+_

_+I'll just bet you don't,+_ he returned.

Even as he was confronting Crouger about his duplicity over their link – a rather well played game, though he would never tell Crouger that he thought so – he was also taking the time to reassure Fukamachi. The words came easily enough: yes, he was feeling better; no, he wasn't aware of what had caused him to collapse; yes, he was absolutely certain that Crouger's Guyver-enhancer had nothing to do with his current condition. Fukamachi was easy enough to placate when one knew him as well as Agito did.

Shizu was there as well, barely restrained from fussing over him in just the way Yohei would have been if he hadn't been occupied in another part of the base. Fukamachi said his goodbyes and took his leave, with only a last look of concern.

"Shizu, would you leave us for a few moments?" he asked, glancing at his youngest counterpart before turning his attention back to her. "Crouger and I have some rather important matters to discus."

"Of course, Master Agito," Shizu said, bowing as she left the room.

Crouger folded his arms, settling back on his feet and smirking in that annoying way of his; Agito gritted his teeth. It was more than obvious that the younger Guyver was determined to test the limits of his self-control; however, if he was to be able to utilize the time-transcending power of Crouger's Guyver-enhancer for his own ends, then he would need to know the specifics of the armor's abilities and limitations. That alone was reason enough to tolerate Crouger, at least for a time.


	51. Overlords

It was almost time, in about five minutes they would both have to leave, but for the moment he could continue to watch Kenji as he slept. Gently stroking the right side of his son's face, Imakarum rolled a lock of Kenji's hair between his thumb and forefinger then gently brushed back the long bit of his son's fringe that always seemed to end up between Kenji's eyes when he let his hair down to sleep.

_-Kenji-chan, time to wake up now,-_ he said, cupping the upturned right side of Kenji's face, and then gently stroking his cheek. _-Wake up, son; we and the rest of the Council have a lot of work to do today.-_

Kenji's eyelids twitched, as his lovely blue-green eyes – _so_ much like his mother's – opened slowly.

"Daddy?" Kenji asked, blinking as he yawned widely.

Wrapping his left arm Kenji's upper-body, just beneath his son's own arms, Imakarum helped Kenji out of their bed. _-It's time for us to get up now, son.-_

Kenji hugged him, holding on even as Imakarum helped him to stand up. Letting Kenji lean against him, Imakarum lead him over to the stool that had been placed by their dresser. Pulling out his hairbrush and patting Kenji's right shoulder as he sat his son down on the cushion, Imakarum began to brush his long hair. Gently tilting the boy's head up with a hand on his chin, Imakarum began carefully brushing out Kenji's long fringe, sweeping it out of his eyes, and all the while being careful not to scratch his son's face with the bristles.

Tying Kenji's hair back at last, Imakarum let his son lean against him for a few mot moments; then, noticing that Kenji was still more asleep than awake, he gently placed two fingers on both of his son's temples. Using his telepathic power, Imakarum reached into the parts of Kenji's brain that controlled his son's physical functions and boosted his energy. Kenji's head snapped up, eyes bright and energetic as ever, and he turned to look back at Imakarum.

"Do we at least have time to get some breakfast before we have to go, Dad?"

_-I think we might have time to quickly pick something up on our way to meet up with the rest of the Council. I'm afraid that I let you sleep in a little too late for us to have a proper breakfast the way you like. Go put your armor on now, son; and remember what I told you about your telepathy.-_

_-Oh, right,-_ Kenji said; he looked slightly downcast. _-Sorry, Dad.-_

_-It's not so much of a problem, Kenji-chan,-_ he said, cupping his son's right cheek. _-I just want to hear that cute little voice of yours. Whenever you speak aloud, it always sounds like me talking. I like hearing _your_ voice, my son.-_ Imakarum gently kissed Kenji's right temple.  
><em>-Now, hurry and get your armor on; I'll help you with your chest-piece and your cape.-<em>

_-Okay, Dad,-_ Kenji said, smiling happily and then giving Imakarum a quick kiss on the cheek.

Imakarum watched for a moment as Kenji scampered over to the stands where they had both stored their armor for the night, then he followed at a more sedate pace. Smiling back as Kenji grinned up at him, Imakarum turned his attention to his own task of preparing for the coming day. Once Kenji had had put his shin- and forearm-guards on, Imakarum patted him on the left shoulder and lifted his chest armor from the rack.

"All right now, hold your arms out, Kenji-chan."

_-Okay, Dad.-_

Holding his arms out to opposite sides, Kenji waited obediently as Imakarum slipped the armor onto his upper-torso and fastened the clasps that held it closed. Fixing Kenji's cape in place once that was finished, Imakarum gently brushed his son's fringe away from his eyes. Putting on his own cape, Imakarum picked up his son's sunglasses and gently set them on his face. Pushing them back slightly, Imakarum fixed Kenji's sunglasses in place and then picked up his visor and put it on.

"All right, Kenji-chan, let's go now."

_-Okay, Dad.-_

Kenji smiled happily, hugging Imakarum's right arm as the two of them left their room. It was slightly discomfiting, not being able to feel Kenji's embrace through his armor, but since the two of them were going to meet up with the rest of the Council – to raise the Ark, no less – there were certain things expected of them and how they presented themselves. Calling over one of the nearby Zoanoids – a Razell – he gave the Zoanoid orders to bring him and Kenji something to eat while they were walking and then turned his attention back to his son.

They had a fair amount of distance to cover before they reached the gathering point at the top of the Dead Sea Plant, so there would at least be time for them to eat as they walked. The Razell returned quickly, matching pace with them, and wordlessly handed over a muffin and a fluffy butter croissant. Handing the croissant over to Kenji, knowing that he would enjoy it a great deal more than he himself would, Imakarum took the muffin and the two offered napkins and waved the scout-type away with his free hand.

"Here, Kenji. Remember to wipe your mouth when you're done eating."

Handing Kenji one of the napkins he was carrying, Imakarum smiled as he accepted it with an absent-minded nod; clearly far more focused on his food than anything else. Kenji was such a good boy. As the two of them continued on their way through the halls of the Dead Sea Plant, Imakarum began to sense that there was another Zoalord coming down that same way.

Just as he was about to turn, to confirm that his sense of the newcomer's identity was indeed accurate, Kenji spoke up instead.

"Hi, Mr. Rienzi!" his son's greeting, while enthusiastic, was not any louder than it needed to be.

Imakarum winced slightly, though not enough that anyone who was not observing his reactions would notice. That deep, powerful voice didn't suit his gentle son at all. Still, Imakarum rather doubted that Lord Yentsui would be willing to conduct such a trivial conversation as Kenji was likely to start over their telepathic link simply to assuage the discomfort of a father. Even if that father was one of his fellow Chronos Lords.

Kenji had only a brief talk with Lord Yentsui, thankfully; the two of them spoke for merely about a half a minute. Kenji did most of the talking, enthusiastic sort that he was; asking about what Lord Yentsui was going to be doing with the Ark once the twelve of them had managed to raise it into the sky from its resting place in the Dead Sea. And how Lord Alkanphel planned to have them raise it in the first place; and didn't it sound fun that going to have their very own _spaceship_.

Lord Yentsui indulged Kenji's curiosity, though Imakarum couldn't quite interpret the expression on his fellow Lord's face. Most of the rest of the Council seemed to tolerate Kenji's presence, if not enjoy it; something that Imakarum was profoundly grateful for. Kenji was a good, kind, gentle boy; he was glad to know that the rest of the Council recognized that as well.

_Most_ of them, anyway.


	52. Visitation

Crouger was staring at him with an annoying amount of self-assurance. Then again, the other Guyver had to have known just what would happen if one overused the time-transcending abilities of his favored Guyver-enhancer. Of course, considering how many times the younger Guyver had clearly used it – and, in particular the journey that he had undertaken from Japan to California – it would have taken an extraordinarily dull-witted person _not_ to learn of this particular limitation.

And Crouger, for all of his faults, was not particularly stupid.

"So," he began, surreptitiously attempting to move and failing for the umpteenth time. "It appears that this enhanced armor of yours carries a few limitations of its own."

"And I can't _help_ but notice that you ran smack into one of them," Crouger said, smirking in that annoying way of his. "A pretty big one, it seems."

"If you would have told me-"

"Well, if you would have _asked_ me in the first place," Crouger cut in, his aggravating smirk growing wider as he spoke.

"I doubt you would have told me even _then_," he snapped, annoyed both at Crouger and at himself for _letting_ the boy annoy him in the first place; the younger Guyver seemed entirely too good at pushing his buttons. "You seem to be getting an inordinate amount of enjoyment out of seeing me lying helpless in this hospital bed."

"Gee, and _why_ do you think _that_ might be, Captain Jackass?"

Glaring, Agito decided not to dignify Crouger's taunt with any more of a response. It was far more important that he ascertained the limits of the time-transcending ability that Crouger's favored Guyver-enhancer possessed, so that he could use it more effectively in his future battles against Chronos.

"Regardless, I need to know if that armor you've been using has any other limitations that you know about."

"What, like the one wasn't enough for you?"

It took a bit more self-control than he would have liked not to respond to Crouger's taunting, but he did manage to restrain himself.

"Anyway, that one's pretty much it. It's a big one though, I'll tell you that much. Especially if you use any of the heavy weaponry; the 'Smasher in particular. Hypertime seems to be the most draining, though; which really makes sense when you think about it."

"I suppose it would," he said, deciding not to comment on Crouger's odd choice of names. "Is there anything else I should know about?"

"You're a smart guy," Crouger drawled, a smirk playing about his lips. "I'm sure you'll figure it out eventually."

Crouger left without a word or a look back once he had finished speaking, and Agito tensed and loosened his muscles experimentally. He could honestly say that he hadn't liked the sound of Crouger's parting words.


	53. Craft

Putting his freshly carved cat down among the rest of his soap sculptures, Alvade turned to look at the door again. Ralgax had gone out to look for Halvra, and he still wasn't back yet. Halvra had been gone for four hours now, and the longest that any of the lab rats had kept them out of the Haven had been three hours, so it wasn't like they didn't have a _reason_ to be concerned. Of course, Ralgax had been gone for over an hour himself, so Alvade's concern was quickly escalating into worry.

He also knew that _he_ wasn't the only one feeling that way; he'd seen the others looking at the clock with more frequency with every passing minute. He was particularly grateful to Yith for getting them that clock; it was nice to be able to keep track of the time, even at times like this when people got agitated. All of the others had stopped even trying to _pretend_ to work on their various projects: their "after life remembrances".

Not him, though, he kept working; continuing to carve the small eagle that he'd started after he'd finished with his cat.

It wasn't that he wasn't worried about Halvra and Ralgax, that wasn't it at all; Alvade just _needed_ to do something with his hands, to keep himself from going out of his mind with worry about Halvra's condition, and just where he and Ralgax were.

Halvra was a good guy; a good friend with a zany and occasionally perverted sense of humor, someone who could be confided in and counted on not to reveal anything said to him in confidence. All of which would mean precisely shit to the lab rats in the face of one, glaring fact: Halvra didn't have a Zoaform. All he could do was to alter the pigments of his cells so that he could blend into differently colored surfaces.

Halvra _could_ turn himself completely invisible, he'd just have to be naked for it to work.

"That's it!" Yith shouted, standing up and derailing Alvade's train of thought before it could turn down either the maudlin or the morbid tracks. "I'm going out there, before I go crazy in _here_."

With that declaration still ringing in the ears of his fellow Lost Units, Yith headed determinedly for the door while Alvade cheered him on mentally. He didn't, he _couldn't_, say anything; but Alvade knew that Yith would understand his reasons better than anyone else could.

"What are you going to _do_ out there, Yith?" Aunt Sammy asked.

"I don't know!" Yith paused, taking a slow, deep breath. "Sorry. I guess we're all a little bit on edge here. I'm going to see if I can help Ralgax find Halvra; or at least find out what happened to him."

_Please don't drag out possibilities like that,_ Alvade had to bite the inside of his right cheek to keep himself from saying that out loud. For people like them, sudden and painful death was always a possibility. It was also a pretty taboo subject to bring up in a conversation; nobody liked to be reminded that their lives hung by a thread on the best of days, or that they were always at the "mercy" of a bunch of sadistic lab rats. That was why he hadn't said anything, and that was why he was going to keep his mouth shut, keep carving, and hope with all his heart that his friends would be able to return to Lost Haven safely.

There were just some things it was best not to talk about.

"You're being real calm about all of this," Aunt Sammy said, and Alvade couldn't really tell if she was just curious or accusing him of something.

Still it was kind of funny, in either case.

"What're you chuckling about?" she asked, and Alvade looked up to see her raising an eyebrow.

"You think I'm calm, and I think I'm losing my mind," he chuckled, a bit more sadly this time. "It's funny."

Neither of them had anything to say to that, and so the two Lost Units lapsed back into a waiting silence.

Alvade continued to carve his soap eagle, while Aunt Sammy picked up a book and made a game attempt to read it. Neither of them wanted to think about what was probably happening to Halvra, since he was still in the "tender care" of those sadist lab rats, and both of them wanted to be there for Yith, Ralgax and Halvra when they all made it back. _All_ of them.

And so they continued to wait, watching the clock whenever their own personal anxieties got the better of them. An hour and a half passed, and Alvade finished carving his eagle, before Ralgax and Yith returned to Lost Haven. Just the two of them; even _with_ their enhanced eyesight, he couldn't see Halvra. And he doubted that Aunt Sammy could, either.

"Why are there just the two of you? Where's Halvra?" Aunt Sammy asked, even as Alvade picked up another bar of soap and tried not to fidget _too_ much.

He really didn't like the way this situation was shaping up.

"Why don't you see for yourselves?" Yith muttered sadly, dropping a slip of paper on Halvra's bed.

Alvade, who had slept opposite Halvra since he had joined this group and been comforted by the older Lost Unit's breathing, felt that he owed it to his friend to find out what had happened to him. He knew it couldn't possibly have been anything good, judging by the way that Yith and Ralgax were both acting; Ralgax was already going into full brood-mode. Something that was only marginally less terrifying to Alvade than his rage-mode.

Of course, Ralgax only went into full on rage-mode when one of them was injured, and he only really went off on the more junior scientists, and on rare occasions the humans they had been sent out to hunt.

Sure, Ralgax in full outrage-mode was a terrifying thing to behold, and Alvade continued to hope that he was _never_ on the wrong end of his white-haired friend's infamous temper; but seeing Ralgax in brood mode was so much worse under the circumstances. Brood-mode suggested helplessness, inevitability; it suggested that something had been done that could never be _undone_. And for a group of Lost Units like them, that could really only mean…

Something that Alvade wasn't particularly eager to think about at the best of times; and this was _far_ from the best of times.


	54. Fate

Still, Halvra was a friend, and that meant that Alvade owed it to him to find out just what had happened; even though he was starting to suspect that he had already guessed right in the first place.

Alvade picked up the slip of paper with some trepidation, not exactly _wanting_ to have his worst fears confirmed; still, he had to do good by Halvra, and if that meant reading something that was pretty much guaranteed to be unpleasant and upsetting – though to what exact degree was still up for grabs – then that was what he was going to have to do. No matter how bad the news most likely was. No matter how much he was probably going to wish that he could _unread_ it after he'd finished with it.

Sitting back down on his own bed, leaning against the wall and holding the paper almost gingerly between his fingers, Alvade scanned it for any pertinent information.

There were hundreds of words on that single page; presenting him with a great deal of potential information. Alvade didn't absorb a word of it, however; a few short sentences at the top of the page made everything else there completely irrelevant: Specimen 152-3873, Codename Halvra: terminated, 1400+10.

And there it was: his worst fear, confirmed. Laid out in black and white where no one could deny it. At least no one was as realistic as Alvade had learned to be; life as a Lost Unit was good for beating the last dregs of idealism out of anyone's head.

_No one_ could keep believing in stupid things like justice, fairness, or equality after they had lived this kind of life for long enough. If they _did_, of course, then they were due for a trip down the incinerator chute to take a dip in the magma. He'd seen it happen a few times; hell, Ralgax could even predict just who was going to end up down the 'chute and who wasn't just by watching them for three days.

It made for a bit of morbid fun around the lab, at least.

But then, that was only for the normal Lost Units; the ones who could do the same kinds of things that a Standard Zoanoid could do. Well, all except for breed or be reproduced. But hell, _that_ was what made a Lost Unit _Lost_ in the first place.

Halvra, though, _he_ hadn't been one of the normal ones. Halvra hadn't even had a Zoaform, but he could do something that none of the other Zoanoids – Standard or Hyper – produced here could, and for all Alvade knew it was beyond the capability of _any_ of the Zoanoids that Chronos had produced. _That_ was why Halvra had ended up on the table with those bastard lab rats cutting him apart.

It was the same thing that happened to all of the non-standard Lost Units. If you ended up going blind, deaf, or being permanently deformed by The Process, then the lab rats would have you shipped here, stuck into this hellhole masquerading as a lab, and cut you open while sampling all of your organs and fluids. All to find out just what it was about you, in particular, that disagreed with The Process.

In that respect, Halvra had been lucky. He may not have been able to formshift, but he _had_ been able to function; he'd also possessed an ability that no Standard Zoanoid could claim to have. Halvra had also lived a hell of a lot longer than any of the poor saps that had been deformed by The Process.

Still, nothing would change the fact that their Lost Unit Five had been reduced to just four members. They'd still be using the name, though; both as a memorial to Halvra and as a way to piss off those shithead Hyper Zoanoids.

The words on the page, the only ones that mattered, had seared themselves into his mind by now. So Alvade tossed the paper onto the shelf by his bed, not particularly caring if it stayed there or not. Flopping back onto his bed, emotionally exhausted from both the tension and the release, Alvade threw the blankets on top of his body and stared blankly at his fellow Lost Units for a few moments before he closed his eyes.

"Bastards," he muttered.


	55. Dispersal

All of the high-ranked Thunderbolt personnel had gathered in their main meeting room to discus Ryan's proposal. Including Mr. Makashima himself, which was a bit strange considering the last Aptom had seen of _him_ had been when he was laid up in that hospital bed. Aptom was actually starting to regret not finding a way to send one of his "clones" into Guyver III's room, just to see what was going on in there. If only to satisfy his own curiosity.

Though, if it happened to be something particularly interesting, he'd be sure to tell Ryan.

Both since the kid was bound to get a kick out of seeing the Almighty Bastard King laid low, and because he personally wanted to find out if the kid had made up anything new for them to call him. The Dark Guyver always turned the most interesting colors when he was trying _not_ to respond to those.

But thoughts of Ryan, entertaining as they were, _weren't_ the most immediate thing on his mind. Even all the people in the conference room, all having the same conversation, were going almost completely unheard. Aptom was in commune.

There were others – sometimes he called them clones; mostly when he was talking to people who didn't know a lot about what he was – who had taken up residence in the ACTF's Alpha Site and were helping the soldiers to train against something like real Zoanoids; there were _others_ who had infiltrated Chronos-controlled weapons dumps and were working to smuggle those weapons into the hands of the ACTF; there were even others that had managed to fully take over military manufacturing plants and had thereby been able to provide the ACTF with a way to make more of the parts that they would need. And now he was taking up the part of something the kid had called a Prime: calling up impressions from the minds of the others and gathering together the information that they had all gathered in their various ways.

This was what made him so dangerous to Chronos now: the fact that he could gather the thoughts and sensory impressions of the others, and put them all together into a coherent whole; and then, he could do whatever he damn well pleased with the "big picture" that he had managed to assemble.

Fuck, he was practically a Zoalord himself, now.

Come to think of it, that was probably why Balkus and his ilk hated him so damn much. A Lost Unit having the same capabilities as one of Chronos' vaunted Zoalords probably played merry hell with that old bastard's worldview. At fact that was all to the good as far as Aptom could convince himself to care.

As of right now, though, Aptom "Prime" was gathering all of the data from the others that had taken up residence in the largest centers of resistance against Chronos. He could also sense another Prime operating, and when they were mentally linked for a few, passing moments, the two of them were able to sense the other's location.

The other Prime was inside the ACTF's base just the way he'd thought; after all, he'd always kept in contact with the others that had been stationed in various Thunderbolt bases around here. It was how he kept just that much more well informed than Agito. It was a hell of a lot faster to communicate mind-to-mind than over an unwieldy and sometimes unreliable comm. unit.

All of the information that the others had obtained took a few moments, or at least it seemed to, to assemble. He always tended to lose track of time while he was in commune; so it could have either been longer or shorter. When he came back into his own mind – with the new information that he had been looking for – Aptom settled himself back into his own mind, and heard the meeting beginning to wind down. That meant they'd probably reached a consensus.

He'd find out what they had decided later; right now, he'd gotten all the information that he was interested in. Now, he was going to go see how his favorite little smartass was doing. Turning and leaving the room just as unobtrusively as he'd entered, Aptom made his way down the corridors. He only had five of the others at this base; there _had_ been a few more of them, but two of them had been killed by that psycho-bastard Imakarum, and the other four had managed to sneak into some of the transports that moved supplies from one base to another.

There were _very_ few Thunderbolt bases where Aptom didn't at lease have a token presence, and _none_ of them were in Japan. Agito had been a bit pissy about the fact that Aptom had managed to get past so many of his guards, but he was _very_ good at spotting and killing Zoanoids. So ol' Zeus tended to keep his mouth shut.

Eventually, Aptom managed to make his way back to the living area of the base. It was a good bet that he'd be able to find the kid there. And, if not, he could always check the mess hall again. Ryan could put away nearly as much as _he_ could, at least given the right motivation. Maybe he _should_ check there first…

Hell with it; he was deep in the living area, might as well check there first and then move onto the mess hall if or when he didn't find the kid.

Passing the rooms that had been occupied by Sho and his little friends – including 'Freezer and Feline Face; his fellow Lost Units – Aptom came to another locked door. Now, the room behind that door had been empty just this morning; he knew that firsthand, since he'd bunked down in the bed last night and no one had shown up to tell him to get the hell out. Even though he didn't need to sleep, it was still nice to have a soft place to throw himself down and not move for awhile.

Especially since prowling around this base at night had gotten really boring lately.

Still, things were bound to get interesting again now that Ryan was here, if only because the kid and His Royal High and Mightiness Agito Makashima couldn't seem to go for more than half a day without some verbal or psychological nastiness going on between them. Hell, their latest bout of fisticuffs was just one more thing that made it blindingly obvious that those two were _not_ meant to work together.

As well as making it funny as hell to watch them try, but that was pretty much a given.

He'd already learned to override the electronic lock – which kind of begged the question of why they still bothered using them in the first place, but then his kind of "override" wasn't the kind of thing just anyone could do – and once he was inside, Aptom scanned the room for any signs that there was actually someone else staying in it. The room looked completely unused at the moment, and he would have turned right around and left for the mess hall if it hadn't been for just one, little thing. Well, more like a _few_ things, and one of them wasn't all that little: the pile of clothes that had been tossed haphazardly on the floor would have been enough of a hint, but the music that was coming from the bathroom was a dead giveaway.

After all, there weren't many people in this base who'd be listening to _that_ kind of music. And he really doubted that any of them liked _their_ music quite so damned loud. So, that pretty much clinched it: _this_ was where the kid was staying.

Chuckling deep in his throat, Aptom make for the bathroom. He could hear a lot of falling water, which meant that the kid was probably taking a shower. _That_, of course, meant that now was the perfect time to screw with the kid's head a bit.

The two of them may have been friends, but that didn't mean Ryan was exempt from this kind of thing.

Hell, that was what made it fun. He'd have never done this kind of thing with Sho; both because he still hated the little bastard, and also because said little bastard couldn't take a joke. In fact, it was pretty damn obvious that _neither_ of the two Japanese Guyvers was very good with jokes.

Agito was too damned self-important to appreciate _any_ kind of humor. And as for Sho, well anyone could see that _he_ was too much of a sap to have a laugh at anyone _else's_ expense. And if he ended up being the butt of someone else's joke, he'd probably start whining and blubbering all over the place.

There were times that he was particularly tempted to play a prank on him, just to laugh at his inevitable reaction. Of course, there were also times when he was tempted to just beat the little shit to within an inch of his life and leave him lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. Aptom knew about temptation better than most people; he liked to think he resisted it fairly well.

Stripping off his own clothes, worn more for propriety than necessity, he tossed them down next to Ryan's; no sense in getting a perfectly good set of clothes wet, no matter _how_ unnecessary they were. Closing his hand around the handle, Aptom let himself into the bathroom as quietly as he could manage.

Although, considering how loud the music was, combined with the fact that Ryan was singing at what sounded like the top of his lungs, he probably didn't need to have bothered all that much. Then again, you never _could_ really tell with him; there were times that Ryan was a lot more conscious of his surroundings than he let on. That was what made screwing with the kid so damn _fun_.

"Come on come on, move a little closer," the kid sang, his voice blending pretty nicely with the guy who was actually singing the song. "Come on come on, I wanna hear you whisper."

Stepping into the shower – because there wasn't anything that could be taken as a more concrete invitation than _that_ – Aptom felt the warm water pelt him. It was a lot hotter than he'd been expecting, and for a few seconds he wondered just how the kid could stand to take showers with the water so hot. Then, as he ran his hands over Ryan's soaking-wet shoulders, Aptom decided that it didn't particularly matter; the kid was tough, so what if there wasn't really any deeper explanation for it than that?

Hell, the kid himself wasn't really one for thinking too deeply about what made him tick, so that was the only answer anyone was like to get from _him_, too.

Ryan definitely had some muscles on him, Aptom noted; he wondered just how much of that came from the Guyver. Brushing his left thumb over one of the marks that the Guyver had left on the kid's back, Aptom glanced lower. That was when he saw the scars. There were three sets of them; each running parallel to one another, and all of them with that same stretched out "S" shape.

They were almost in the center of the kid's back, just below the Guyver's marks, and about half an inch from the spine on either side. When he touched _them_, Aptom thought that they felt like old burns; something like the scar on his face when he wore his humanish form. Something hard and blunt slammed into the left side of his head, distracting Aptom from further examining the scars.

Didn't stop him from wondering just where in the hell they'd come from, though.

He was sure that none of the other Guyvers had anything that even _remotely resembled_ those kinds of scars on _their_ backs. Of course, none of them could fire off electricity from their _fingertips_, or-

"Ow! What the hell, kid?"

"Does the concept of 'personal space' just not _register_ with you? Or is it that you find something particularly fascinating about my ass?"

"I wasn't _looking_ at your ass, kid," he said, rolling his eyes briefly, even as he saw the kid brandishing the bottle of shampoo he was holding in a distinctly threatening manner.

"What, is there something _wrong_ with my ass?"

Aptom knew a loaded question when he heard one. "Not even going _near_ that one, kid."

The kid chuckled, and he – being annoyed at having been smacked upside the head with a mostly full bottle of shampoo _twice_ – grabbed Ryan's chin and planted a sloppy kiss right on his lips. It wasn't nearly as wet as Aptom would have liked, considering the facts that they were both still in the shower and he didn't really have any saliva glands anymore, but he liked to think he got his point across. That was, of course, right up until he opened his eyes to see the look on the kid's face.

Ryan was _still_ smirking.

"Your technique could use a little work, you know?" the kid drawled, grinning in a way that reminded Aptom a lot of himself.

_That_ was the last straw.

Grabbing Ryan's chin again, Aptom forced a bruising lip-lock between the two of them. Then, just to make things more interesting – well, interesting for _him_; traumatizing for a certain little smartass – he forced the kid's jaw open and shoved his tongue into his mouth. Feeling pretty pleased, since there wasn't much chance-

Aptom yelped, braking the lip-lock. "The hell- Did you just _pinch_ my ass?"

Annoyed as he was about being one-upped _again_, Aptom still knew when he'd asked a stupid question. And damn, but _that_ was a _stupid_ question.

"Just give it up, red-eyes. You're _never_ going to win this round."

Making a noise of annoyance, Aptom decided not to dignify that with a response. "How many more times is that song going to play?"

"A lot."

"When's it going to stop, then?"

"When I get out of the shower and turn off the CD player."

Aptom grumbled a bit; still, he knew better than to argue with Ryan about his music. Rampaging Zoanoids couldn't keep the kid from enjoying his tunes; not for long, anyway.

"Look, scarface, either make yourself useful and wash my back." Aptom caught the bar of soap that was lobbed at his head. "Or get the hell out and let me enjoy the rest of my shower."

Chuckling, he tossed the bar of soap into the air and caught it, one handed. "Whatever you say, kid."

"Oh, and if I run out of hot water because of this, you are _so_ getting Mega-Smashed."

Aptom laughed, even as he continued lathering Ryan's back; their relationship might have been weird as all hell, but it worked. Somehow.


	56. Awakening

All of his children were gathered now, near the pinnacle of the Dead Sea Plant, and Alkanphel was pleased to see such. Kenji and Masaki stood with him at the front of the group, and the eagerness he could sense radiating from the mind of his youngest son was rather pleasing. Kenji was such a loyal, devoted boy.

Just like Masaki, and Alkanphel was happy to note that his loyal Twelfth was not at all uneasy with having Kenji so close to him.

_-You and Kenji seem to have resolved whatever differences came between you, Masaki.-_

_-To be honest, it wasn't Kenji's fault that we parted in the first place, my Lord,-_ Masaki said, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind Kenji's left ear. _-It was my doing, and I take full responsibility for it. I… I thought that Kenji would no longer need me, now that he has a place within Chronos' upper-echelons. It was the wrong thing to do, and I realize that now. Believe me, my Lord, I _will_ remember what I learned from this ordeal.-_

_-That is quite commendable, my Masaki. Still, I sense that you had another reason for leaving the way you did.-_

_-I did,-_ Masaki said, his tone an admission of guilt. _-I was not certain of how the other Zoalords would see him; he was always so dependant on me. I worried that one of the others would try to take advantage of that.-_ Masaki gently adjusted the ends of Kenji's red bandanna, so that they fell more evenly over his silver-and-blue armor. _-Either so that they could claim Kenji's territory for their own, or to use me for their own ends. You would know better than most the lengths that I would go to, to make certain that Kenji is kept safe, my Lord.-_

_-Indeed I do, Masaki,-_ he said, as the group of twelve Zoalord – _his_ Zoalords – stepped closer to the ledge.

Beneath them was spread the entirety of the Dead Sea, now converted into the largest amniotic bath in Chronos' history for the sole purpose of nourishing his great living ship, his Ark. Today was to be a most illustrious day indeed: the day that Chronos took its first steps into space.

And, the day that he himself took one step closer to getting his answers from the Advents.

Still, there was one more thing that Alkanphel wanted to take care of, before he directed his children in the awakening of the Ark.

_-Hamilcal, have you sent out that hunter of yours yet?-_

_-Yes, Lord Alkanphel. He is in Japan, searching for Aptom even as we speak.-_

_-And, you are absolutely certain that this _former_ Hyper Zoanoid understands the nature and the urgency of his mission, and will not feel any sympathy for what is now one of his fellow Lost Numbers?-_

_-No. If there is anyone who would be less sympathetic to that freak of genetic engineering besides myself, it would be Zektor.-_

_-Indeed? I am certain that you have your reasons for believing that, Hamilcal. Still, I am rather curious as to what makes you so willing to have faith in the loyalty of a Lost Number.-_

_-Zektor hates Aptom with a fury that I have not often been privileged to witness. It would seem to stem from the close bonds that he shared with the other members of Team Five. I would say that the strength of Zektor's hatred for Aptom is comparable to that felt by Imakarum for Sho Fukamachi.-_

_-That is more reassuring, Hamilcal,-_ he said, relieved but still wary about what this new development could bring. _-Still, what is to stop this Zektor of yours from becoming the same manner of impediment to Chronos' plans as Aptom, once his mission is complete?-_

_-I have taken measures to prevent such an occurrence, Lord Alkanphel.-_

_-Such as?-_ he asked, raising his left eyebrow slightly.

Kenji shifted slightly against him. _-What are you talking about, Alkanphel?-_

_-Hamilcal and I are discussing important Chronos __business, child,-_ he said, reaching up to gently stroke Kenji's head. _-We will be done soon; so just be patient and we will soon__ be raising the Ark.-_

_-What are you and Mr. Dr. Balkus talking about, anyway?-_

_-We are discussing a way to deal with Aptom, my child.-_

_-Are you going to kill him? Um, Aptom, I mean. Are you?-_

_-I am fairly certain that Hamilcal has found a way to do that very thing. So, we _are_ going to kill him, Kenji. You can have faith in that.-_

_-Good, I hope you do. I don't like him! He's scary, and he tried to eat me!-_

_-Yes, I remember Masaki telling me about that,-_ he said, gently stroking the left side of Kenji's neck in an effort to calm him. _-You will have no need to fear that ever happening again after this day is over, Kenji. I promise you that.-_

_-Thanks, Alkanphel,-_ Kenji said, leaning against him and putting his hands on the armor over Alkanphel's chest so that he could rest his head there.

_-I apologize for the interruption, Hamilcal,-_ he said, turning his attention back to his loyal and first-chosen Zoalord. _-Kenji was curious as to the matters that we were discussion. I _would_ like to know what manner of precautions you feel will keep this Lost Number Zektor from going rogue the same way that Aptom has.-_

_-Neo Zektor, actually, my Lord. I have given him a new name, so that he can truly _understand_ that the life he had before is over. It has made him a great deal more tractable.-_

_-Interesting. Neo Zektor, then. What assurances can you offer that he will not become just as much of a threat to Chronos' interests as Aptom is now?-_

_-His metabolism has been accelerated to an even greater degree than even the model III Enzyme. Rather than three years, Neo Zektor will be lucky to live for three _months_.-_

_-That is very good to hear, Hamilcal. Still, I rather doubt that Aptom would be affected by a limitation such as that. He seems to evolve beyond the parameters of every Zoanoid he assimilates.-_

_-True, but I have also equipped Neo Zektor with the same anti-Aptom Vaccine that I developed for the Enzyme IIIs. If Aptom _does_ try to assimilate Neo Zektor, which he inevitably will, he will be killed. By Neo Zektor himself, if not by the Vaccine.-_

_-That is _very_ good news, Hamilcal,-_ he said, gently brushing a bit of Kenji's fringe out of the young Zoalord's eyes.

Kenji was not Yentsui, and hence had no need to hide his eye behind a curtain of hair. His dark sunglasses, which Masaki was adjusting even as he watched, would be enough. And now that he knew the specifics of the plan that Hamilcal had set into motion to deal with Aptom – finally and forever – it was now time to do what they had come out here to do. What he had gathered them all here at this place to do.

_-My children, it begins now.-_


	57. Solitary

As he made his way deeper into the city – lowlife Lost Number that he was now; and wasn't _that_ just a kick in the balls – Neo Zektor searched for any signs that Aptom had passed this way. He'd been reading all the newspapers he could get his hands on, even the ones that had been crammed into recycling bins to await their trip to the local processing plant, looking for news of strange disappearances. Aptom may have been smart, a fact that Neo Zektor was only grudgingly willing to admit, but anyone who had met that bastard could tell that he couldn't even be subtle _when_ his own life depended on it.

And that was why Neo Zektor continued to look through the papers: he was trying to find the trail of corpses that Aptom always left behind; figuratively, of course, since that cannibal bastard had no respect for the dead at-fucking-all.

The feel of someone brushing past him, roughly enough to jostle the paper in his hands, distracted him from the news he was trying to catch up on. Turning to look that way, Neo Zektor saw a short guy – well, shorter than _him_, anyway – walking casually down the sidewalk away from him. The guy, most of the body was covered by a dull gray trenchcoat but the shoulders were a bit too broad to belong to a girl, was looking around like he couldn't quite decide what to take in first. He was probably a tourist; he'd been seeing a lot more of those kind of people lately, and this guy definitely seemed to fit the bill.

"Why don't you watch who you're sideswiping?" he groused, annoyed.

Just because he was a lowlife now, didn't mean he wasn't entitled to at least _some_ pride. He'd been one of the best, at least before everything had gone straight to shit. It was still at least _possible_ that no one else in Japan knew just what he was now; he'd been reprocessed at the Dead Sea Plant, and Dr. Balkus wasn't really the type to go around bragging about how he'd _completely_ fucked up someone else's life…

No, that wasn't the way it had gone down at all. He'd _wanted_ this kind of power; he'd been willing to pay any price to get his revenge on Aptom. Hell, even _this_ late in the game, he was still willing to do whatever was necessary to pay that cannibal bastard back for what he'd done.

However, doing "whatever it took" didn't generally include taking crap from civilians; and especially not from some gawking tourist. It took a few seconds, but soon Neo Zektor soon realized that said tourist was talking to _him_.

"Hey, big guy!"

"Yeah, what?"

"I said: I'm sorry for bumping into you like that," the guy said, offering him a smile. "I guess you're getting as spacy as I was being back there, yeah?"

Neo Zektor chuckled; though he didn't think of it as being spacy. No, he was being _focused._ Okay, maybe just a _little_ bit obsessive; shit, Elegen always used to tell him-

He cut that line of thought off before he could dig himself in any deeper. Elegen was dead; _worse_ than dead. He and the rest of Team Five had become _parts_ of that sadistic, filthy cannibal bastard.

He had to keep reminding himself of that: cultivating his rage and hatred of Aptom, to keep himself from curling up in a corner and just waiting the month and a half it would take for him to die. It was kind of a delicate balance, though: if he thought _too_ much about all the shit that had happened to him, Neo Zektor knew that there was a better than average chance that he would go off the deep end and start killing everyone he happened across.

And then Chronos would start sending Hyper Zoanoids after Aptom; and then his chance of getting his revenge on Aptom would go _straight_ down the shitter.

It was kind of a hard thing, to remember just enough about what had happened to his team – his _friends_ – that he could draw on that deep well of rage to keep himself going, while at the same time trying _not_ to think too much about it, for fear of losing his shit on any poor sap who had the bad luck to so much as look at him wrong. It took a few seconds for Neo Zektor to realize that the kid was talking to him again.

He knew it was a kid from the sound of his voice; no full-grown man had a voice _that_ high-pitched unless something weird had gone on with them during puberty. Or unless they were a cross-dressing woman, but again: the shoulders. The hips, too: they were too narrow for any woman.

"What'd you say, kid?"

"I asked you what your name was, big guy."

"Big guy?" he echoed, chuckling. "I guess I can live with that."

"Glad to hear it, big guy," the kid said, smirking in a way that almost reminded Neo Zektor of the team he'd lost; or, at least he would have, if he hadn't been so determinedly _not_ thinking about them. "Now, are you going to tell me your name, or am I going to have to start guessing?"

Snatching the floppy hat from the kid's head, Neo Zektor ruffled the boy's bright red hair. "I guess you're the persistent type," he said, chuckling as he plunked the hat back on the kid's head. "I'll tell you, just because you seem actually, genuinely interested. My name is Neo Zektor. Mind telling me what I can call _you_?"

The brim of the hat was now tilted down over the red-head's eyes, blocking his view of them, but he could still tell that _something_ was going on with him, just from the way the kid's lips had thinned. He just didn't know what that something was. "Neo Zektor? Is _that_ what you said your name was?"

"That's what I said, kid."

The kid's face became even _more_ unreadable than before after he said that; he'd managed to get his face under control, and his hat was still tipped down over his eyes. So it wasn't like the kid had to work all _that_ hard to look stoic and tough the way he was doing. Still, the effort was worth _some_ respect.

Now, though, he _really_ wanted to know why the kid felt the need to do that in the first place. It wasn't like he had any reason to want to keep secrets, or anything. Or maybe he did, and in that case, Neo Zektor wanted to know why that _was_.

He wasn't stupid enough to think that a kid who wanted to keep secrets in the first place would be willing to spill for a guy he didn't even know. Someone he'd just met in the street. Of course, there was always the chance that he'd misread the situation entirely; that the kid _didn't_ have any big secrets to keep.

Still, whatever the case really was, it was always best to start off with something innocuous; that was something that he'd learned during his time as Chronos' Chief Interrogator; any Hyper Zoanoid could take up the position, but he'd often been praised as the best of them.

"So, kid; I told you _my_ name. You going to tell me yours, or am I going to have to start guessing?" he asked, in what he thought was a passable imitation of the kid's tone.

Evidently the kid himself thought so, too, judging by the way he grinned and started laughing.

"I guess I _did_ kind of walk into that one," he chuckled; Neo Zektor couldn't help but be impressed by how fluent the kid's Japanese was. It wasn't as if the language was an easy one for a foreigner to learn. "My name's Ben Reilly."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Ben," Neo Zektor said, giving the kid another once-over. "What's with the coat?"

"Mom _insisted_," Ben said, rolling his eyes in that way that all teenagers seemed to be able to do and only a teenager seemed to be able to do _well_.

"Why's that, kid?" he asked, then winced slightly as an idea struck him. "You aren't _naked_ under there, are you?"

Ben laughed out loud at that suggestion. "Would you like to personally find out?"

He had to laugh at that; both at the expression on the kid's face, and the way he was standing. No doubt about it: Ben was a hell of a lot like Zancrus. Which meant that it was a _very_ good thing that he wasn't ever going to see the kid again. He didn't know if he was strong enough to spend any real amount of time around someone who reminded him so much of his murdered comrades without wanting to either kill himself or to go out and murder someone.

He wasn't particularly eager to find out, either.

He still had to punch Aptom's ticket for everything that _fucking cannibal traitor_ had done; both to him, and to Chronos as a whole. That was really why Dr. Balkus had given him this power; his own revenge – as much as it meant to him, personally – wasn't really so important when set against Chronos' grand plans. _That_ was a pretty humbling thought.

Still, the fact remained that everything Aptom did was disrupting Chronos' plans for the world; that made him an obstacle. And _that_ meant that he needed to die. If his death just _happened_ to be prolonged and overly painful, then so much the better.

The fact that he'd been chosen by Dr. Balkus personally made him the one – the _only_ one – who could take on that Zoanoid-eating piece of shit and still be himself afterward. Of course, the fact that he was going to die in a month and a half _regardless_ of what he did was kind of depressing to think about; but then, it wasn't like he _had_ anything left to live for, anymore. Memories of friends who had been murdered practically in front of him, and a desire for revenge that had driven him to become something that he never would have considered otherwise, didn't make a life.

Not even close.

Turning slightly to look over at Ben again, he found that the kid had put his sunglasses back on. Maybe the kid had sensitive eyes or something, or maybe he just liked the look of the world when he saw it through polarized lenses. Whatever the reason, Neo Zektor decided that it was time to find a way to gently get the kid to leave. Ben was nice, in a quiet kind of way, but the kid really had reminded him a little _too_ much of Zancrus for him to be truly comfortable talking to him for too long.


	58. Remembrance

Ryan had been making a concerted effort to ignore the begging, pleading, and occasional bargaining from his inner-Zoanoid. It wasn't like he didn't sympathize with the guy – Elegen's situation sucked rotting fish eggs and anyone who tried to dispute that fact had no soul – it was just that every time he got into it with a Hyper Zoanoid, he ended up getting maimed, pummeled, or killed.

Not really a fate that he wanted to go out of his way to invite.

_)Now that's a blatant fabrication and you know it, kid. That does _not_ happen to you every time.(_

_)No,(_ he sent back amicably. _)Sometimes _I _end up killing _them_. And my answer's still no,(_

_)Please?(_

_)No.(_

_)Pretty please?(_

_)What part of 'no' are you not comprehending, here?(_

_)Ryan, I swear that I won't do anything that could endanger you. Just let me do this one, last thing, and I promise that I will never ask another favor of you again. I won't get you lost in any more cities, and you won't even have to ask me to shut up anymore.(_

_)You realize that I'm going to hold you to all the promises you make here, don't you, Elegen?(_

_)I wouldn't expect anything less from you, Ryan. I know I'm asking for a lot from you, considering the circumstances.(_

_)I'll say you are,(_ he groused, sighing under his breath so he wouldn't make the Hyper Zoanoid walking beside him wouldn't get the idea that there was anything going on with him. _)You're asking me to trust you to have a nice, civil chat with your boyfriend – a guy you've seen _die_ at least three times by now – without giving away just how much damage that "Ben Reilly, average guy" has done to the organization he's still working for. How in the hell do you even __plan to _attempt _to explain how you ended up time-sharing my body _without_ mentioning Aptom or the Guyver, anyway?(_

_)How about I just promise not to say anything stupid, all right?(_ Elegen sent; Ryan got the feeling that his inner-Zoanoid wasn't particularly happy about the subject being discussed, but some things had to be said.

_)Stupid? You mean, stupid like I-want-to-talk-to-my-dead-but-not-really-dead-boyf riend-so-I-can-tell-him-I'm-not-dead-even-though-h e-saw-me-getting-eaten-by-a-sadistic-sentient-amob a-with-a-bad-attitude? Is _that_ the kind of stupid you're talking about? Because you have to know that your old boyfriend still works for Chronos, and if any of the Big Twelve find out about me not being dead – which they're pretty well guaranteed to, what with the mind-reading thing and all – then they're probably going to go all out trying to kill me. And, you _do_ remember that if I die, _you're_ pretty well fucked, right?(_

_)_You_ remember that I revived you after Doc Balkus stopped your heart, right?(_

Okay, now he was just grasping at straws. _)Okay, first: that was in the Guyver, so it doesn't really count. Second: that was just my heart being stopped, any sap with the right medical equipment could have fixed me up after _that_ little mishap. I didn't have my head sliced open, blown up or torn off; and none of my vital organs had been torn out or dissolved. Got it?(_

_)Yeah, I get it. I hate you sometimes, you know.(_

_)You hate it when I'm right and you don't like what I have to say, and we both know it.(_

_)Kid- Ryan, just let me get some closure,(_ Elegen sent, seeming tired and hopeful both at once. _)That's all I really want.(_

_)Great, I'm really happy for you, and I'm glad you're thinking about your mental heath. I just have a _slight_ problem when it comes to _your_ closure getting _me_ killed!(_

_)I'm not going to get us killed! Besides, _you_ were the one who decided that you wanted to get a look at the situation in the city, in spite of the fact that you know fucking well that Chronos owns the city. Not to mention the whole goddamned _world_ on top of that!(_

_)Yes, I _know_ that; but I've been taking precautions. You know, precautions? Those things that keep you from getting horribly, messily killed when you're doing recon in enemy territory?(_

_)Oh yeah, great precautions, kid,(_ Elegen sent, giving the impression of sneering. _)Some half-assed disguise: a trenchcoat and a puny pair of mirrored sunglasses. Oh, and that cute little fedora you managed to snap up. It's not like you're wearing contacts, or false teeth-(_

_)False teeth? False_ teeth_? The hell kind of help would _that_-(_

Ryan found himself forcefully jolted back to full awareness by a sharp, stinging pain in his right cheek. Looking around for his assailant, Ryan found himself staring at Neo Zektor. The Hyper Zoanoid wasn't even _trying_ to look innocent; which was only a _small_ point in his favor. It was pretty damn obvious just who had slapped him.

"Okay, so what was _that_ for?"

"Sorry for that, Ben," the Hyper Zoanoid said, actually managing to sound contrite enough that Ryan decided to hold off on yelling at him. At least until he'd let the guy explained himself. "I had to get your attention _somehow_."

"By _hitting_ me?" he drawled, raising an eyebrow in his best what-the-hell-were-you-thinking look.

"You _completely_ spaced on me there, kid. You weren't answering, no matter what I said, or how loud I was. Hell, I even tried yelling in your face, and I _still_ got no response."

"And, it never occurred to you to you to try, I don't know, _shaking_ me to get my attention?"

"Kid, that was what I tried first. Hell, I even did it twice, just to see if you'd say anything. And I _still_ got bubkis from you."

"Well then, I guess the slapping makes sense," Ryan said, trying to be amicable. _Now there's something I never thought I'd say. Especially to someone like _this_ guy._

_)Ryan, will you _please_ let me-(_

_)All right, fine,(_ he sent back, irritated. _)I know you're just going to keep bugging me until you get your way. Just keep it quick; and remember that if I die, so do you.(_

His control over his body fully restored, at least for a few minutes or so, Ryan looked back at Neo Zektor. The Hyper Zoanoid was giving him a suspicious look. And since Elegen was about to blow pretty much every one of his protective half-truths out of the water, he figured that he might as well do _some_ damage control. See if he could keep things from getting as bad as they could be.

"So, I guess you want to know just why I spaced out on you like that, right?"

"That _would_ be the first thing on the list, kid," the Hyper Zoanoid said, folding his arms and looming like a humanoid monolith.

Given what he knew about the guy from Elegen's memories, however, Ryan wasn't quite that intimidated. Once he knew the full story, ol' Zektor wasn't really all that likely to go off and _attack_ the one person who – in his own weird way – was almost as close to the guy's once and future boyfriend as the man himself was. Chronos' Big Twelve, on the other hand… well, they were a different story.

"Well, that's going to require something of a long and complicated explanation," Ryan said, even as he took off his sunglasses and stashed them in one of his trenchcoat's large pockets.

Hell, if he was going to jump off the bridge, he might as well tie the anvils to his feet while he was at it. It wasn't like he could get any _more_ fucked when Chronos discovered him.

_)You think up the cheeriest metaphors when you put your mind to it, you know that?(_

"Ben!"

Tilting his head slightly, his ears still ringing from the noise, Ryan chuckled. "Thanks for half-deafening me there, champ. I appreciate it."

"You spaced on me _again_, kid. And you get pissy when I slap you; what was I _supposed_ to do?"

"Look big guy, do you want me to tell you my story, or not?"

"Yeah, I _want_ to know what you have to tell me, kid. But it's starting to look like _you_ don't want to talk about it."

_)Don't screw this up for me, kid.(_

_)Can it, Snake-head.(_

"And you just spaced on me _again_, kid."

"Maybe I should just let _him_ tell this story, ya think?" Ryan chuckled, tilting his head slightly. _)All right, Snake-head; you're on. Get me captured by Chronos, and I _will_ make you seriously regret it.(_

Regaining his full awareness for what was probably going to be the last time in a long while, Ryan closed his eyes after taking a last look at Neo Zektor. Elegen was the one who opened them.

"Listen, kid- what in the _hell_?!"

Observing the exchange from the back of his own mind, Ryan chuckled mentally at the expression on the Hyper Zoanoid's face. It may not have been the most charitable thought he'd ever had, but Ryan could honestly say he was looking forward to watching Neo Zektor freak out over the particulars of their situation.

Distantly, with the parts of his mind that responded to physical sensations when he concentrated on them, Ryan felt Elegen licking his lips. He couldn't help a bit of idle curiosity as to why his inner-Zoanoid had felt the need to stall for time like that.

"Zektor?"


	59. Slumber

Imakarum had taken most of Lord Alkanphel's weight on himself. Kenji was strong, yes, but he was also young and he had a tendency to worry. He didn't really want to burden his son with too much extra responsibility; Kenji already did so much for Chronos as a whole. Besides, he had always thought it was rather cute to watch Kenji fuss over Lord Alkanphel the way he did.

_-Dad, are you _sure_ that Alkanphel's going to be comfortable sleeping in that thing?-_ Kenji asked, once Lord Alkanphel's stone bed had come fully into view.

_-I'm certain that Lord Alkanphel will be just fine, Kenji-chan.-_

_-You mean he probably won't want a pillow?- _Kenji sounded unaccountably disappointed by the idea, and when Imakarum looked over at him he found that Kenji was indeed holding a small pillow. It was pale blue, as were most of the furnishings in his son's room; that being his favorite color. _-I guess I should put this back.-_

"Wait," Lord Alkanphel said, gently clasping Kenji's left wrist with his right hand. "I appreciate your concern for my welfare, my child," Lord Alkanphel smiled, even going so far as to lean slightly from the support that Imakarum was offering him. "I would be honored to accept your gift to me, little one."

_-My Lord, if I may?- _

_-What are you curious about, my Masaki?-_

_-I was under the impression that you were unaffected by changes in your physical surroundings while you are hibernating, my Lord. Was I wrong?-_

_-No, Masaki; you are not. Truthfully, I lose all sense of my surroundings while I am in hibernation. I am able to see and hear, to some degree, through the minds of my children; but I have no other senses beyond that.-_

_-Then, why did you—_

_-For Kenji's sake, of course.-_

_-I'm not quite certain what you mean by that, my Lord,- _he said, as he continued to gently shepherd Lord Alkanphel and Kenji both into the inner sanctum of Lord Alkanphel's grand temple.

_-Kenji needs to feel useful; not only to our cause, but to those that he loves,-_ Lord Alkanphel stated, settling himself down on the edge of his stone bed and taking the pillow that Kenji offered to him. _-It makes him happy to be of service to us, and it has been my experience that Kenji is a great deal simpler to handle when he is happy. Has it not been so for you, my Masaki?-_

Imakarum bit the inside of his right cheek lightly. True, he enjoyed seeing Kenji happy, and he loved few things more than the sight of his son's smile – though perhaps the severed heads of Sho Fukamachi and Agito Makashima being presented to him would have had much the same effect – but he did not like to think that he had such… utilitarian motives. The thought that he would ever try to _manipulate_ Kenji like that… Imakarum put those thoughts out of his mind.

Kenji _should _be happy as often as could be arranged, after all. That was what Imakarum himself strove for, those times that he could find a free moment; one that he did _not_ have to devote to his nigh-endless search for the base that Agito Makashima and his annoying Thunderbolts were operating out of. The fact that the Dark Guyver was beginning to become more aggressive with regard to his attacks – while it gave more credibility to the reports from the Information Control Sector that he oversaw; those stating that the Guyvers were terrorists – had made it that much more difficult for him to spend time with his son; to say nothing of Kenji's own schedule.

Even though his son _was_ basically a figurehead; but such thoughts were best left for another time, for now Lord Alkanphel required their attention.

He noticed then that Lord Alkanphel was no longer leaning against his side, and that Kenji was kneeling next to the Supreme Zoalord's stone bed. Lord Alkanphel gently swept a lock of Kenji's black hair back behind his son's left ear. It seemed as if Kenji had already given Lord Alkanphel the pillow that he had been carrying, and now his son was simply sitting and looking at Chronos' Supreme Zoalord with loving awe. At least up until Lord Alkanphel set his hand atop Kenji's head, then Kenji closed his eyes and smiled happily.

_-Are you still lost in thought, my Masaki?-_

_-No, I'm all right. Are _you_ still feeling well, my Lord?-_

_-I am feeling rather more worn out than I was when we first arrived. Masaki, remember to take care of Kenji while I sleep. And, also remember the other orders that I have given you: find me a Guyver so that I may regain my full strength. Find it before my hibernation becomes permanent.-_

_-I remember your orders, my Lord. I _will_ find a Guyver for you, even if I must tear Guyver III apart and take _his_.-_

Stepping closer to Kenji and resting his right hand on the back of his son's neck, Imakarum smiled down at him. "Kenji, let's go now."

_-Okay, Dad,-_ Kenji said, leaning against Imakarum's right side. "You're going to be okay, aren't you Alkanphel?"

Imakarum tensed, tightening his grip ever-so-slightly on Kenji's upper left arm, even as Lord Alkanphel smiled kindly at him.

"I will be fine once I awaken, my little one. I do appreciate your concern for my welfare, however." _-Masaki, are you not feeling well?-_

_-It's nothing like that, my Lord. I just… when he speaks out loud, Kenji's voice…-_

_-You feel that it doesn't suit him.-_

_-Yes, my Lord, I do feel that way,-_ Imakarum said, wrapping his right arm around Kenji's shoulders and allowing his son to lean his head against Imakarum's cheek.

_-So… that would be why… you always insist on having him speak to you telepathically.-_

Looking back at Lord Alkanphel, Imakarum found that Chronos' Supreme Overlord was now fully laid out upon his stone bed; he seemed to be struggling to keep his eyes open. Nodding respectfully to his Lord, Imakarum put his right hand on Kenji's back and steered him away from the stone bed and the slumbering form or Chronos' Supreme Overlord.

_-Sleep well, my Lord.-_

"Have a nice nap, Lord Alkanphel!" Kenji called happily, turning to look back over his right shoulder; Imakarum winced.

_His_ voice coming from _Kenji's_ mouth just didn't fit pattern. It was unnatural, and it only served to remind Imakarum of Masaki Murakami's failures as a father. It was entirely _his_ fault that Kenji had been taken by Gyou; _his_ fault that Kenji had been made into a Zoalord, so many years before he would have been ready to understand what _being_ a Zoalord – commanding that kind of power and influence – actually meant. It would now fall to Imakarum himself to teach Kenji just what being one of Chronos' Overlords meant.

But not yet.

Kenji deserved at least a little while to be a child. Anyone could see that Masaki Murakami had failed utterly in his endeavors to keep Kenji safe from those things that sought to cause him harm; that vile, lying traitor Gyou was a prime example. Of course, the fact that Kenji had the loyalty of Team Five was both reassuring and troubling at once. That Kenji had such loyal and powerful soldiers working for him was a great asset to his son.

Then again, considering the affection Zektor held for him…

Perhaps it would be best if he monitored Zektor's future interactions with Kenji. Of course, he would need to have an agent in place for those times when he had to oversee operations of the Information Control Agency. Still, there would be time to make those arrangements later.

Now, it was time that they left Lord Alkanphel to his sleep and returned to their duties.


	60. Haunting

"A Lost Number, eh?"

After the obligatory round of explanations – and a needed reintroduction – Neo Zektor had explained to the kid, and to Elegen, just why they didn't need to worry about the Overlords finding about the new Guyver in their territory. Or the fact that he was supposed to be dead.

"Yeah. It's not like I had much reason not to volunteer for reprocessing. The four of you were dead, or as close to it that it didn't make much of a difference." Looking over at the kid walking next to him – the kid who was housing Elegen's mind in his body – Neo Zektor smiled slightly. "I _am_ really glad to see you again, though."

It was certainly the strangest situation that he had ever been in. And that even included the first time that he and Aptom had met. It was weird as fuck, seeing Elegen being shorter than him, and actually having _hair_ and all. Of course, Elegen had always been shorter than him, but that had only ever been by a few inches; he'd never _towered_ over him the way he was doing now.

But then, it wasn't really _Elegen_ he was towering over, it was Ryan Crouger. The kid was fairly tall for someone his age, but it was obvious that he still had some growing to do. Neo Zektor would have pegged him as being about fifteen or so. Still just a bit too young to safely undergo The Process; the docs would have said that he still had a few too many hormones floating around in his bloodstream for them to risk dunking him in one of the 'tanks.

Clearly, he wasn't too young to fight, though. If he'd been a part of Chronos, the kid would have probably been fast-tracked to becoming a Hyper Zoanoid; he had that kind of a look about him. Besides that, all of the reports that Chronos had on the kid – all the data they'd gathered – stated that the Fifth Guyver was a lethal opponent for any Zoanoid he faced. Even Hyper Zoanoids didn't seem to be able to take him down, which would have been a professional embarrassment to Neo Zektor.

It _would_ have been, if he were still a Hyper Zoanoid; hell, it still felt like one in spite of all that.

Given what Elegen had said about the kid, and from his own limited experiences with him, Neo Zektor knew that – while he really would have preferred for the kid to be working for Chronos, or at least to be an uninvolved civilian – Ryan was a good kid. Though really, Neo Zektor was forced to admit to himself that an "uninvolved civilian" wouldn't have had the chance to survive Aptom's attention or to hold Elegen inside their body the way Ryan was doing, but that still didn't stop Neo Zektor from wishing that Ryan would give up the crusade against Chronos that all the Guyvers seemed to be on.

"So, what's life been like for you since- _this_ happened?" he asked, indicating Ryan's body with a sweep of his hand.

"Weird. I spend a lot of time sleeping, at least when he doesn't need my help or he isn't sleeping himself, so that's kind of nice. You might have noticed that he tends to get a bit spacy when we talk, so you'll probably be able to tell when it happens."

Nodding, Neo Zektor reached out and ruffled Ryan's hair, knowing that Elegen would feel it since he was the one currently in control. "I still can't get used to you actually having _hair_," he said, grinning and trying to lighten the mood.

Elegen chuckled, but the sound itself was sadder and more rueful than he would have liked. Elegen wasn't the one who was going to die in a fight with Aptom, and Neo Zektor _had_ always enjoyed seeing his boyfriend smile. Seemed like he'd just need to do a bit more to get that to happen.

"You know, I _can_ see a few advantages to you being shorter than me," he said, looking over Ryan's body with a teasingly speculative grin.

"Oh? Such as?" Elegen drawled, raising Ryan's right eyebrow and grinning back.

"Well, maybe something like this," Neo Zektor said, smirking as he swept Ryan's legs out from under him and held the kid close.

The scents and the feel might have been different, and he might have been a hell of a lot lighter than Neo Zektor was used to, but it was still Elegen inside that body. It was Elegen's yellow eyes staring out of that unfamiliar face. And that was why he could do what he was planning.

The kid wouldn't mind so much, and even if he did, Neo Zektor wouldn't have to hear about it. With that thought still firmly in mind, Neo Zektor pressed a firm, hot kiss against Elegen's – or Ryan's, but it was getting harder to think of him that way – mouth. Elegen tasted a bit different than Neo Zektor remembered, but that was only natural considering what had happened. Nudging Elegen's mouth open, Neo Zektor began to explore it with his tongue. Their tongues met, rubbing against each other twice before Zektor pulled away, burying his nose in Elegen's hair and – wait, _hair_?

Opening his eyes, Zektor saw a shock of bright red hair, and memory crashed into him with the force of a speeding train: the rest of Team Five was dead; he was _Neo _Zektor now; and while it was still Elegen inside this body, his boyfriend wasn't the only one there. Those were sobering thoughts, and they served to remind him of just what it was that he still had to do.

As much as he didn't want to do it, Neo Zektor knew that he would have to leave Elegen behind.

It was for his own safety; his and Ryan's. After all, he was going to be hunting down Aptom; there was no real reason to think that he would be able to survive the inevitable fight with that cannibal bastard. Maybe… he didn't even want to. Even though Elegen _had_ survived – for a certain definition of survival, anyway – it wasn't as if the two of them could ever go back to the way they were before.

There was also the matter of Ryan to consider; and, beyond that the fact that he didn't have much more than two months left to live. It was really best that he cut those ties; best to have no regrets.

"Zektor?"

Turning to look back at Elegen, Neo Zektor saw that he was fiddling with the sunglasses that Ryan had been wearing when they had first met. Elegen had always seemed to need to do something with his hands when he was trying to say something that he wasn't sure that the person he was saying them to was going to like. It was kind of nice, seeing that his boyfriend hadn't become _completely_ different.

"What is it, Elegen?"

"It's not that I don't enjoy talking to you, but the kid really wants to get back to his recon. And, if he gets spotted by any of the Zoanoids who _can_ get their minds read, we're both going to be in an ass-load of trouble. So, no offence, but I should really be going now."

"I think that would be best," Neo Zektor said. "Don't forget me, okay?"

Grabbing Neo Zektor's right shoulder to steady himself, Elegen stood up on tiptoe and gave him a kiss right on the lips. "I wouldn't do that; that'd be stupid." His boyfriend chuckled with Ryan's voice. "Anyway, I'll see you again, Zektor." And, waving he left.

Neo Zektor smiled; he smiled up to the point where he lost sight of Elegen around a corner, then let the false smile fade away like it had never been. "No; you won't."


	61. Transformation

The Paradise Valley Health Spa and Processing Plant was a place that had often been visited by tourists in the days before X-Day, and now that its true purpose had been revealed, not all that much had changed in the day-to-day operation of the Plant. True, there were Zoanoids in the crowd – lounging in specially made chairs, sipping various drinks, and getting massages right alongside the humans that frequented the spa areas – and when people spoke about the ruler of the South American Section, they referred to him as Overlord Waferdanos.

And it was a fact that everyone who came to the Spa was given the option to undergo the necessary processing to become a Zoanoid; provided they were over 17 years of age, of course. But, aside from those changes, not very much had changed for the Paradise Valley Health Spa with the emergence of Chronos as _the_ world power.

"Hey, Mr. and Mrs. Alverrez? Are you here?" the Ziatt manning the check-in desk asked, still in his human form but no less a Zoanoid, looking around a couple times before reaching over to pick up the intercom. "Mr. and Mrs. Alverrez, would you both come to the check-in desk, please? The results of your screenings have come in."

A brunette woman came striding over to the desk. She had the mien of someone who was supposed to be right where she was, but Ziatt wanted to make sure. Ever since Zoaformation had become so popular, a lot of people had started to get really pushy about The Process.

"Are you Arline Alverrez?"

"Of _course_ I am," she said, seeming annoyed at the question. "You said that my test results had come in. Are you going to give them to me now, or what?"

_Pushy broad. _"Well, if you'll give me the paper that the white-coats slipped you when they finished your exam, I'd be happy to hand over your results," he said, trying not to let his own annoyance show.

This lady might not have known what kind of aggravation he put up with on an almost daily basis, but that didn't mean she had to go and add to it with her little attitude problem. She might have just been having a bad day – though how that was _possible_ here in Paradise Valley, Ziatt was sure he didn't know – but she could at least be courteous enough not to try and push her misery off on other people.

"Fine, here."

Grimacing imperceptibly at the woman's tone – this was procedure and he was annoyed that some people just couldn't seem to get that – Ziatt took the slip of paper and checked both the color and the numeric code against the code printed on the form. This was Arline Alverrez, all right.

"Here you go, ma'am," Ziatt said, handing the form over to her.

He'd read the results; she and her husband were both compatible with The Process. Speaking of which…

"Ma'am, would you mind telling me where you husband Braddock is?" he held up another completed form. "I need to give _him_ his results, now."

"What the hell _is_ this?"

"Those are your test results," Ziatt said, just managing to shut his mouth _before_ he tacked on anything like "duh" or "you moron". The woman still didn't look mollified.

"I know _that_!"

"Then what's your problem?" he asked, swiftly getting more annoyed.

"It says here that I can only become a _Standard_ Zoanoid!"

"I'm still not seeing a problem, here," Ziatt said flatly, though he was starting to suspect what the problem she had with her test results was; time would tell if he was right.

"What do you _mean_, there isn't a problem?! Those idiot doctors said I was only good enough to be a Standard Zoanoid!"

Ziatt couldn't help but snicker. _Looks like I was right on the money._

"What's so funny? Why are you laughing?!"

"I'm trying to imagine _you_ as a frontline commander," he said, managing to bring his laughter down to chuckles.

It wasn't as if she could _do_ anything to him, after all. She was still just a human; for the moment, anyway. Ziatt decided to work off a bit of tension by screwing with her.

"We had a guy like you in here last week; making all this noise about how _he_ should get to be a Hyper Zoanoid. Jerk though he was too good to be a Standard like the rest of us," he chuckled, both at the memory of the incident and the look on the woman's face. "Bresnel told him to take it up with Lord Waferdanos; of course by then, idiot-boy had already managed to get himself processed. So the janitors ended up having to mop his liquefied remains off the floor, once His Excellency had finished with him," he looked her over, a mocking look of appraisal on his face. "Of course, you're still just a human, so you _might_ just survive the experience. Then again, His Excellency might just decide to _physically_ rip you apart for bothering him with something so stupid." Snapping his fingers like he'd suddenly had an idea, Ziatt just managed to hold himself back from snickering. "Hey, why don't I send some guys with buckets in after you? That way, if you end up in pieces on the floor, they'll at least be able to pick up the bits of your corpse _before_ it starts rotting." Arline looked fairly freaked out by that idea; he'd toyed with her head enough. "Or, you know, you could just shut up, accept your test results, and stop bothering me. Does _that_ sound like a better idea to you?"

Arline didn't say another word, not even when he grinned at her; practically _inviting_ her to talk. Ziatt put her out of his mind after that. There was a tall man, with brown hair and an adorable toddler in his arms, coming up to the check-in desk now.

"Checking in or checking out, sir?"

"Braddock Alverrez," the man said, handing over the color-coded slip of paper that the white-coats had given him.

"Thanks," Ziatt said, checking it against both the numeric code and the small, colored square on the form. Everything checked out, so he handed the form back. "Congratulations, sir. And, just who is _this_ little darling?" he smiled.

"This is Cece," Braddock said, grinning like every proud father on the face of the Earth; even His Excellency Imakarum looked that way when he was with Overlord Ingriam, and those two were just _strange_. "Say hi to the nice man, Cece."

"Doggie!"

"Sorry," Braddock said, even as Ziatt himself snickered. "That's her favorite word right now. She says it to everyone we meet."

"Well, it's a very cute word," Ziatt chuckled, reaching out to tickle a spot under little Cece Alverrez's chin; she had a cute giggle, just like every other little kid he'd come across. "Are you and your wife planning to undergo The Process at the same time?"

"Yeah," Braddock said, looking down at the tyke in his arms with a considering air. "Still, I have to get someone to watch over little Cece, here."

Arline moved closer to her husband, but anyone who was watching as closely as Ziatt was watching the two of them would have noticed the way Braddock subtly tensed in her presence. He didn't really know just what their deal was, but at that moment, Ziatt decided that he'd keep a closer eye on the Alverrez family. The instincts that were instilled by The Process would probably make Arline Alverrez a better mother, but instinct couldn't be proof against everything.

"I'll take care of that for you," he offered without hesitation.

"Are you sure? I mean, I wouldn't want to impose, or anything."

"It's really no problem," he said, waving Braddock's objection off with his left hand. "I'm due to go on my break soon, anyway. My replacement's going to be here in about half a minute, and we're kind of overstaffed so we've pretty much all been taking long breaks. And hey, we already offer this service to people like you."

"Thanks," Braddock said, cuddling and kissing Cece before he gently plunked the kid in Ziatt's arms. "Really; thank you."

Ziatt, having come out from behind the desk while he and Braddock had been talking, smiled and bounced little Cece in his arms. "It's no trouble at all. All right, sweetie," he said, gently gripping the little girl's right wrist so he could wave her little hand. "Say bye-bye to Daddy. 'Bye-Bye, Daddy'!"

"Doggie!"

"Not quite what I had in mind," he said, chuckling.

"Well, I told you that was her favorite word right now," Braddock said, laughing.

"I guess you were right, then," he said, a bit ruefully. "I'll see you both in a week."

"In a week, then," Arline said, speaking for the first time in awhile.

"Bye, doggie!" Cece called, peeking out over his left shoulder.

He laughed. "Take over for me, eh Bresnel?"

"Don't worry about it, Ziatt," Bresnel said, grinning. "I can take care of things here; you just take care of that kid."

"I'll do more than just _that_."

"That's what you always say," Bresnel chuckled.

Ziatt laughed in recognition, even as he turned to leave the check-in desk behind. He had a feeling that little Cece would enjoy playing with the other kids while her parents went through The Process.


	62. Tenacity

The night made a fairly decent cover for them as they moved in, but none of the ACTF were prepared to rely on it _too_ much. Zoanoids had enhanced night-vision; some of them better than others, and not one of them wanted to be the one responsible for causing this mission to go completely FUBAR. They weren't here to fight; they were here to establish a beachhead in Chronos' territory.

They couldn't hope to drive Chronos back from their conquests if they just sat back in the Alpha Site and did nothing. However, this part of Chronos' territory had been selected specifically because it had been overrun with Aptom's clones; none of them would be required to fight anything more dangerous than one of Chronos' scientists. And there were enough of those who had defected to the ACTF, with Aptom there to tell them about the benefits of such a move, that none of them might be required to fight at all.

That was what most of them were hoping for, really: not only would a bloodless conquest of this facility be harder for Chronos – particularly those Zoalords of theirs – to trace, it would be much less of a strain on the ACTF's as-yet limited resources. With most of their numbers made up of eager but untrained civilians in the wake of X-Day – and no way to draw on new recruits from present or past military forces without the risk of Zoanoid infiltration – and most of their vehicles and larger weapons either destroyed or left behind in the evacuation of their L.A. base, they were concentrated on regaining what they had lost.

They would need everything they could scrounge, before they could begin taking their home territory back from Chronos.

Sure, the Guyvers and Aptom were great to have in a tight situation – and the fact that Aptom could turn an entire battalion of Chronos' Zoanoids into his own obedient clones in anywhere from a matter of minutes to half an hour was a definite asset – but at the end of the day they couldn't leave it all to them. Besides, the Guyvers were still just kids when you came right down to it; none of them should have been asked to carry that weight in the first place.

When Lieutenant Richards first spotted the Zoanoid sentry, it took a few moments before he remembered _not_ to shoot the thing; it was against his training, but this wasn't a normal circumstance. If that Zoanoid – a Gregole, given the profile he was seeing – wasn't one of Aptom's infected clones, then shooting it would just draw attention to their group and invite the risk of their mission being compromised. And, if it _was_, then shooting it would just piss him off.

And if there was anything that Richards learned over the time he'd spent working with the man – or whatever the hell Aptom was now – it was that the Zoanoid-eater's temper wasn't something to be taken lightly; particularly considering what he was capable of.

Watching the Zoanoid on his night-vision's HUD, Richards saw it reach _into_ its chest and pull out a radio. Definitely one of Aptom's clones.

"Just where in the hell _are_ you morons?" Aptom's annoyed voice came from the activated radio. "I've been watching out here all night!"

"I thought you Zoanoids were immune to the cold," he needled gently, now that he knew that the figure in front of him had been revealed to be an ally and he could break radio-silence.

"I'm not cold, soldier-boy, I'm bored. There's a difference. Now, where the hell are you and why shouldn't I kick your ass when I find you?"

"What's the status of the base?" he asked, not wanting to get into a game of one-upmanship with Aptom if he could avoid it.

"I'll tell you the status after you and your fellow idiots get your asses in here!"

The Gregole that had proved itself to be Aptom was looking off into the distance, but his gaze was focused in the wrong direction to be able to see any of them. Being Aptom, he probably had other options, but Richards had to admit that he was curious to know just what those were.

"Are you watching us through the cameras, Aptom?"

"Why don't you try looking up?" the Zoanoid-eater said, chuckling in that way he would when he knew something you didn't.

It was a bit hard to tell when the Zoanoid-eater was genuinely in the more powerful position; he had a strange sense of humor and he liked to gloat.

"Sir, there's one of them above us," First Sergeant Jessica Halverson said. "It looks like a Valvatos aerial-type."

The Valvatos landed nearly in the center of their group, and several of his soldiers instinctively went for their weapons. Richards held himself back, and he noticed Halverson, Berenson, Carter and Crisp doing the same.

"Nicely spotted," Aptom's Valvatos clone chuckled. "Now, let's get you all inside before we waste the whole damn night."

Aptom-Valvatos started to herd Richards and his small team in the direction of the Chronos base that had been their objective in the first place, while Aptom-Gregole returned the radio to its place inside his chest then turned and resumed his perimeter patrol.

Following Aptom-Valvatos with the mien of people who were supposed to be right where they were, Richards tried to settle into his skin. All of his people were in civilian clothes, so that cut down on the chances of them being recognized as ACTF; especially since the ACTF had been gutted during X-Day and was most likely presumed dead. Of course, that wasn't likely to last once they started retaking territory in earnest, but for now anonymity was really their best asset.

Once they were all safely emplaced inside the facility, Aptom-Valvatos was met by a pair of Aptom-Ramochis. It was very easy to tell that the two Ramochis were more of his clones by the way Aptom reacted to them: _not_ trying to eat them, and by the way they reacted to him. They were calm, almost genial to Aptom as they passed him on their way to God knew where.

"We received reports that this base had been overrun by you and your clones," Richards said, once his group of six soldiers had made it into a secluded meeting room and Aptom-Valvatos had shape-shifted into a Razell with his own head at the top of the insectoid body. Probably the closest the Zoanoid-eater came to wearing clothes at times like these. "Would you care to clarify what that means? Have all the Zoanoids here been infected? Or is it just the majority, and you're still mopping up?"

"I wouldn't have called you here if I didn't have control of the place," Aptom scoffed, plopping down in the remaining empty chair.

"What about the scientists?" Halverson asked, turning slightly in her chair so she could face him more directly.

Richards knew why she was so interested: her brother had been a researcher for the company, first at the San Diego branch of one of their front companies – Brant Medical Technologies – and then at Japan's Mt. Minakami after his transfer. Jessica Halverson had been horrified to find out just what it was that Chronos had been doing to their scientists. She'd been spending a lot of time with Professor Odagiri; asking him about the role of the scientists and how they were treated by their employers.

_Employers my ass,_ Richards groused._ Slave-masters is more like it._ He listened as Aptom laid out just how he and his clones were handling the Chronos-loyal scientists that they had rounded up. Apparently, some of them had already decided to break off from the company; understandable considering their circumstances, but dangerous considering the holds that Chronos still had on them.

Professor Odagiri's treatment was likely going to be put to use ASAP, just as soon as a new batch of that stuff could be smuggled into this place. Aptom was probably going to take care of that; both since he was the one least likely to be captured and searched, and because his unique physiology made him perfectly suited to smuggling anything smaller than himself.

_Not to mention the whole instant spy-network,_ Richards mused, chuckling lowly enough not to be heard over the general level of conversation. "All right then," he said, drawing the attention of everyone else in the room. "Now that all of the security concerns have been addressed, unless someone has something else to bring up, I suggest we start blending into the general population."

Looking around at his small group of soldiers – hand-picked for their dedication to the ACTF's cause, as well as their skills at infiltration and information gathering – Richards saw that not one of them had anything more to ask of either him or Aptom. He was glad for it, since as useful as Aptom was to their cause, the Zoanoid-eater was never exactly what anyone would call sociable; he was also short-tempered and ornery as all hell if you caught him in a bad mood.

It was really best if none of them pestered him too much; he'd never actually betray them – what he and Chronos as a whole felt for each other could pretty much be described as mutual loathing – but having your bed constantly short-sheeted, or else waking up to find that all of your furniture had been glued to the ceiling – including your bed, with you in it – wasn't something that anyone sane would want to go out of their way to invite. Aptom had probably been spending a bit too much time around Ryan Crouger, or the reverse; but suffice it to say that _someone's_ tendency to play practical jokes on people who annoyed him had rubbed off on someone else.

It was something to keep in mind.


	63. Protection

It was late, his shift was almost over, and now he was being called back in to deal with what would probably turn out to be a simple domestic disturbance. Normally it wouldn't be anything but a really minor inconvenience, except for the clear fact that he hated this neighborhood. People might have said that it was an okay place to live, but he'd hated the place even when he was just a human.

Now, with the enhanced senses that he'd gained from The Process, the place was all but unbearable. There were all kinds of unpleasant smells in the air – things he wasn't even going to _try_ to identify – not to mention the general ambiance of the area. This was the same basic reason that Zoanoids like him couldn't live in or around Los Angeles. At least, not until the Chronos-sponsored cleanup had been completed.

The smog was a nightmare, and the trash scattered around the area would be harsh on any Zoanoid's sense of smell, but it was especially horrible for mammal-type trackers like him. Their sense of smell was better than anyone other than a select few Hypers, and in a place like L.A., well… Shaking his head, Benjamin put those thoughts out of his mind.

He wasn't here to sightsee, and he never would have chosen a shithole like this to go sightseeing anyway. What he was here for was to check up on the validity of the call that one of the neighbors had made to the station. The girl he was here for had evidently run away before; she'd been taken back to her house – like anyone her age would have been, of course – but Benjamin didn't begrudge her the attempt. He'd have done just the same thing, if it'd been him in here.

Still, the reports stated that the little family – the father was missing and presumed dead; it was just the girl and her mother – was having some kind of trouble.

Sniffing again, Ben winced: car exhaust, trash, rotting food, and a few scents that he didn't even want to _try_ identifying. Still, it wasn't like not breathing was any kind of viable option, but breathing through his mouth helped to blunt the sensation a bit. Not to the point where he was actually _comfortable_ around here, but then his job wasn't one that you took for the comfort factor.

He was here to help.

Once he'd made it to the indicated house, Ben rung the bell and waited.

"Yes? Is there anything I can help you with, officer?" asked the woman who had just opened the door.

"I need to speak with your daughter," he said, trying not to wince; her perfume was nigh-on suffocating, and it was starting to give him a headache.

"Of course you can," she said, smiling. "I'll go and get her for you."

Ben waited, trying as best he could to get the scent of perfume out of his nose; it was nauseating, and he didn't want to hang around here just to use the bathroom. He looked up just in time to see the woman return to the living room, a shorter blonde girl in tow.

"I take it you're Brenda Travers," he said by way of greeting. "Ma'am, do you think you could give us some privacy? Your daughter and I need to talk."

"Of _course_ I will," she said, smiling as she sashayed out of the room.

Ben was just happy not to have to deal with her stink anymore.

Just as the cloying miasma of perfume began to clear, however, Ben started to smell something else. Something that was natural and human; maybe just a little _too_ human. It smelled like whoever he was dealing with hadn't had a bath in at _least_ a month.

And, since the only other person in the room was Brenda…_ Geez, I knew this place was a shithole, but even I didn't think people here were _this_ slovenly._

Becoming swiftly disgusted with the stench in the room, Ben decided to get the interview over with as quickly as he could manage.

"I was told that you and your mother were having some problems at home," he said, trying not to breathe too deeply while at the same time not to be too obvious about it.

"Are you here to take me away from her?"

Ben tilted his head. "Huh?"

"You have to get me out of here," Brenda said, actually sounding genuinely desperate; enough so that Ben began to have some doubts that this was just going to be another open-and-shut case.

Still, he had to remain objective about things; this girl had already run away before. She might very well have had her reasons, but that didn't change the fact that she had done something that bordered on illegal for someone her age. Time would tell if she had a good reason for doing what she did, but since Ben wanted to get out of this place as soon as he could manage, there wasn't a lot of time that he was willing to spend.

"Why do you think I'm here to take you away?" Ben asked, trying to subtly move downwind; she really stank.

"I _need_ to get away from her," Brenda said, looking back the way her mother had gone with the mien of a hunted animal. "She's completely insane! She took everything out of my room!" Brenda said, after shooting another one of those hunted looks back the way her mother had gone.

"I heard that when some people ground their kids, they take the TV and stereo out of their rooms. It kind of sounds like that's what you're talking about," he said, trying to sound reasonable.

And trying _not_ to wince or wrinkle his nose; the stink was really starting to get to him now; his eyes were even starting to water. When _was_ the last time that this girl had bathed?

"No, you don't understand! There is nothing at all in my room right now!" Brenda looked over her shoulder again, that same hunted look on her face. Then she moved closer, and Ben had to fight _very_ hard to keep himself from stepping back. "There's _nothing_ in my room now!" she moved even closer, and Ben winced almost visibly; the _smells_ coming off of this girl… "I-I don't even have lightbulbs in my room anymore," she whispered, as if she was afraid of being overheard.

"What?!" That certainly hadn't been anything like what he'd expected to hear. "What do you mean, you don't have any lightbulbs? How could you not have _lightbulbs_?"

Brenda shivered, wringing her hands and looking for all the world like she hoped that he would be her personal salvation.

For Ben, this was starting to remind him uncomfortably of the other time that he'd been called in to deal with what everyone had assumed was just another domestic disturbance. The boy he'd met at that house had looked to him as an ally; someone to deliver him from his own desperate situation.

Ben had sent him back to his father, secure in the knowledge that he'd done the right thing, only to find the kid's corpse stuffed unceremoniously in a Dumpster a week later. The forensics guys had said he'd been beaten to death with some kind of blunt object – a crowbar or a golf club, or something of that ilk – and then strangled to death with something strong and thin. It could easily have been a shoelace or an electrical cord.

There had been maggots worming around in the corpse when he'd found it; the kid's left eye had been eaten away almost entirely, but the right… The kid's right eye had stared out of that dead face like an accusation. And hell, maybe it was; he'd been the one to send that kid back to his father.

Back to the bastard who had murdered him.

Maybe this was the universe's way of offering him a chance at redemption. He certainly didn't want to see Brenda Travers becoming just one more anonymous teenage obituary that no one ever bothered to read. He'd failed to save Derrik Lawrence, and Ben was never going to forget that name.


	64. Choices

Moving closer, ignoring the truly vile stench coming off of the girl, Ben leaned forward and whispered. "Why don't you have any lightbulbs in your room? And when was the last time you took a bath?"

"Si-six weeks ago," she said in a small, miserable voice.

"That's about what I figured," Ben muttered, quietly enough that Brenda wasn't likely to understand what he'd just said.

"What?"

"Nothing important," he said. "Now, why don't you tell me why you don't have any lightbulbs in your room?"

"Mom… She-she took them all out; said I wasn't worth the electricity bills anymore," Brenda said, shivering and hugging herself.

When she started rocking back and forth, looking for all the world like she was about three seconds away from breaking down sobbing, Ben stepped forward and gently wrapped his arms around her. She still reeked of month-old body odor, but there were some things in this world that were a hell of a lot more important than one man's comfort. Holding her lightly, just in case Brenda didn't really appreciate this invasion of her personal space, Ben was only mildly surprised when she burrowed into his embrace and pressed her face against his chest.

Patting her back, trying to get her to at least _begin_ to calm down so that they could start working on a way to fix things, Ben felt something through the slightly worn fabric of her pale peach-colored sweater. Something that summoned up a slow, seething rage from deep inside him.

_When that bitch gets back here, I'll_- he broke off that line of thought just as said bitch came wafting back into the room. Glaring at her with all the hatred these circumstances had summoned up within him – how anyone could treat their kids like this and still consider themselves human was something that Ben had never and would never understand; it was also one of the reasons that he had volunteered to become a Zoanoid in the first place – Ben watched for any aggressive moves that she might make toward either Brenda or himself. There was no real way to tell just what someone _that_ fucked in the head would do when confronted with open defiance.

Especially someone fucked up enough to try starving their own kid to death…

"What _has_ my daughter been telling you?" the bitch asked, actually managing to sound annoyed by what she was seeing.

The fuck kind of right did _she_ have to be annoyed right now?!

Reigning in his temper as best he could, both so he wouldn't end up scaring Brenda and so he wouldn't end up tearing her bitch of a mother apart like a cheap piñata, Ben tried to breathe more deeply. That was one of the downsides of being a Zoanoid: if you got angry enough at a human, you were more than likely to start a fight that ended up with you picking chunks of their bones out from between your teeth. That kind of thing became all the more likely if you actually _hated_ the person you were dealing with, of course.

And he _truly _hated this particular bitch.

"She was telling me the truth," he ground out. He could still remember that moment, when he'd had Derrik's bastard of a father at his mercy: left shoulder blown out by a buckshot round, on the floor begging for his life with Ben's shotgun aimed at his head; so he could at least maintain _some_ control over his actions. "You know, what you didn't bother telling me when I got here. Like the fact that you took _every single thing_ out of your daughter's room; including the lightbulbs. Or the fact that she hasn't bathed _or_ had a decent meal in over a _month_!"

Derrik's worthless shit of a father had managed to get off with only a few weeks of jail time; the little sleaze had managed to get himself a lawyer that was entirely too good for someone like him, and who had managed to pull his ass out of the fire that it had rightfully belonged in. But that wasn't going to happen _this_ time.

He was a Zoanoid now; something that had been deemed better than any human alive. Even if he _did_ end up killing this bitch for what she had done to her daughter, the worst he could possibly end up facing was an interview with one of the Nine Overlords. Overlord Shin was the most likely, since the North American Section was _his_ jurisdiction.

Still, that was that was something that Ben was fully prepared to face; both for Brenda, and for the memory of Derrik.

"What do you _mean_?! I know for a fact that Brenda took a shower just _yesterday_!"

"I'm not surprised you couldn't smell it, what with your own damned stink in the way," he snarled back.

"_What?!_ This perfume is thirty five dollars an ounce!"

"Great, so you stink _and_ you're stupid," he growled, his headache combined with the shit that he had been seeing combining to shorten his temper even _farther_. "That chocking, cloying stench… _That's_ why you can't smell anything, isn't it?" A particularly unpleasant thought came to him then, and Ben flexed his fingers slightly; for a few, long moments, he wanted nothing more than to wring Brenda's mother's worthless neck. "Or did you spray all of that crap all over yourself just so you wouldn't be _able_ to smell anything? You disgust me."

"I apologize for my daughter's behavior," the bitch said, smiling in that saccharine way that made Ben want nothing more than to rip her overly made up face off. "She's a compulsive liar; _always_ making up these wild stories. Why, I can hardly keep up with what she says from one week to the next."

"Flesh doesn't lie, you stupid bitch," he snarled. "I could feel her ribs when I touched her, even through what I'm guessing is two layers of cloth, so that gives her a hell of a lot more credibility than _you_."

The bitch looked about ready to throw a hissy fit, but Ben's more immediate concern was for Brenda. She was shaking like a leaf. When she looked up at him, right into his eyes, Ben could see the genuine fear that she was feeling.

"Help me, please?"

Those had been Derrik's words; the _last_ words that he'd ever heard the kid say. And now was his chance to say to Brenda what he should have said to Derrik. His chance to redeem himself, if only in some small way.

"I'll help you. I promise."

"Oh, now you're just-"

"Shut up!" Ben roared, enraged.

Adrenaline was coursing through his body now, leaving Ben enraged and far more short-tempered in its wake, and now all he could think of was to transform and rend Brenda's mother limb-from-limb.

The sound of fabric shredding as the body beneath it grew too large for them to contain swiftly became mere background noise for Ben: noticed and dismissed in almost the same moment. His vision had become hazed with red at the edges, as he found himself facing down what his fevered mind now saw as the cause of his past failure. If he'd still been in his right mind, the stark terror writ large on the woman's face would have easily been enough to mollify him.

However, as things stood, nothing short of her death would calm the enraged Zoanoid down.

Leaping around Brenda, having retained just enough sense to recognize her as an innocent, Ben leapt at her mother claws-first. His first blow caught her across the shoulder as she clumsily dodged. Shocked and wounded as she was, she didn't move nearly fast enough when Ben's next blow came. This one tore open her guy, spilling blood and organs onto the floor and her clothes. Staring down in horror, she looked up just in time to catch Ben's claws full in the face.

When Ben came back to his senses, panting, he found that his hands and a large patch of the wall that he was crouching in front of had been covered in gore and shredded cloth. Looking over to Brenda with almost frantic urgency, he found that she was perfectly fine. Though she _did_ look a bit scared; he couldn't really blame her.

"Brenda, are you all right?"

"I'm- I think I'm okay," Brenda said, shivering as she continued to stare at him.

Or, not precisely at _him_, but the mess on his hands and the wall in front of him. Looking down at his hands, Ben rose back to his feet and smiled as well as he could with his wolflike muzzle.

"I guess I should go clean myself up, yeah?" he said softly; then paused as a thought came to him. "Why don't you go take a shower while I wash my hands? Then I can fix some food while you wash up."

"All right," she said, nodding timidly as she turned and headed up the stairs.

Ben watched her until she had made it halfway up, then he turned and made his way into the house's kitchen. Brenda would need to have light foods, like soup or dry toast, since she wouldn't have the stomach for anything heavier. He didn't want to end up making her sick when he was trying to help her. So, he'd try to find something that she could safely eat.

And he would take some comfort in the fact that he had laid one of his old ghosts to rest; the fact that he had redeemed himself in some small way.


	65. Recruitment

He'd done all he could for the cause of the alliance, and a few small things that were just for himself, and now all Ryan wanted to do was to get as far away as he could from Agito "My Ego Could Blot out the Sun" Makashima as he could. Preferably _before_ said egotistical bastard found out about one of those little indulgences of his.

"Hey, kid. You're finished discussing that alliance of yours with the Commander?" David Turner, one of the Thunderbolts' fire team leaders – and one of the few people who didn't seem to have at least _some_ sort of problem with him – asked.

"That's about the long and the short of it," he said, continuing to walk as he talked, moving steadily toward the exit. "It's been a real fun trip, but I honestly think it's time I got back to my home turf."

"I guess you have a point, kid. Wouldn't want to wear out your welcome, or anything," the Thunderbolt said, cocking his head and winking.

"That's pretty much what I said to your boss when I told him I was leaving," he said, chuckling as he hurried a bit faster.

It couldn't be long now…

_+Crouger!+_

_)And that would be my cue to get the hell out of here.(_

_)About how long do you think it'll take our buddy Agito to get here so he can yell at you in person?(_

_)All the way from his room? I'd say about an hour and a half. We'll have plenty of time, especially since we've practically made it to the exit already.(_

_)What happens if he locks the base down?(_

_)We'll have to be a bit more creative, then. I don't think _that's_ really going to be a problem here and now, though.(_

_)How do you figure, kid?(_

_)Because, our boy Agito seems to have some kind of thing about being able to deal with me, _personally_. I'm pretty sure he'd rather let me get away than admit that he couldn't deal with me _without_ resorting to drastic measures like _that_.( _Coming back to full awareness again, Ryan smirked as he saw the few paces remaining between him and the concealed northwest exit. _)Almost home free, Snake-head. Let's mosey.(_

_)You got that from a video game, didn't you.(_

He chuckled. _)Probably.(_

Testing the door controls, Ryan entered the passcode he'd been given and waited for a reaction. The red light turned green, and the door opened without any delay. As he made his way out, Ryan couldn't quite help a certain sense of satisfaction. _)See? What'd I tell ya.(_

_)Don't get too cocky, kid. He might have just been out of contact with the control room while you were pulling this little escape of yours.(_

He rolled his eyes._ )Whatever.(_

Making his way back into the tunnels, the ones that he could have sworn were abandoned subway lines, that concealed this particular set of exits from the prying eyes of Chronos' goons, he called his Guyver once he was clear of anything important that would get blown up by the shockwave that proceeded the transformation. Once the bio-armor had finished forming, settling completely on – and _in_, but he tried not to think about that so much – his body, he equipped the Giga and paused for a moment as _it_ finished forming in its turn.

_+Crouger, where the hell are you?+_

"Yeah, like I'm going to go telling you _that,_" he scoffed.

_)I'm thinking you should make a bit more effort to get the hell out of here, kid. Agito sounds a bit more pissed than usual.(_

_)Already taken care of,(_ he sent, transitioning into Hypertime and levitating into the air in the space between one unneeded breath and the next.

Following the ceiling to the end of the tunnel, he flew up into the sky with a definite sense of amused relief.

He knew full that he would have to raid one of the large gardens that the Alpha Site's civilians maintained, if there wasn't a meal already waiting for him, and he also knew that there was going to be some fairly serious fallout from his little prank on His Royal Assness; he just didn't particularly _care_ about the latter, that was all. The only thing that really mattered to Ryan right now was the fact that he was crossing the pond again.

The fact that he was headed home.


	66. Danger

The kidlet had wanted to go out and survey his territory; sure, he didn't actually _phrase_ it that way, but that was what it came down to in the end. And as his loyal crew of Hyper Zoanoids, it was Team Five's duty to accompany him. Of course, even if it _hadn't_ been expected of them they would have done it anyway, Zektor knew, just because they all loved the kid so much.

All of the Zoanoids in the Genesis Tower loved the kid, and helped to take care of him when he was feeling down. Of course, that had been happening a lot less often lately, now that His Excellency Imakarum Mirabilis had started coming out to the Tower regularly.

The thought of their Overlord's idiot father nearly made Zektor clench his fists in frustration, but he didn't want to worry the kidlet so he restrained himself.

"Are you mad about something, Zektor?"

He winced, trying not to be obvious about it, and turned to meet the concerned gaze of his Overlord and the unquestioned ruler of the Africa Section. Okay, so _some_ people were questioning his claim of rulership over an entire continent and then some, but they were humans so their opinion didn't matter; and anyway he was straying from the point.

"No, I'm not mad," he said, working up what he hoped was a convincing smile and putting the source of his annoyance out of his mind.

Borderline treason aside, he really didn't want to upset their little Overlord.

"Are you sure?" the kidlet asked, and Zektor could see his worried expression even _without_ being able to see his eyes. "You _looked_ really mad just a second ago."

"I guess I just get kind of annoyed at those people who keep saying that you don't deserve to run this place the way you do," he said, settling for a half-truth. "If nothing else, this Section's yours by right of conquest. Everyone else should just shut up and learn to deal with that."

"Dad says I shouldn't listen to people like that," their young Overlord said. "He says I should just let him know where they are, and he'll make them go away."

_Well, so much for the opposition,_ he mused.

While it _was_ true that His Excellency Imakarum was kind of completely clueless about how to raise a kid, he took over-protectiveness to all new heights. It was a small step in the right direction, but as far as Zektor was concerned it didn't make His Excellency any less of an idiot when it came to _parenting_ the kidlet.

"This place is a lot different than Japan."

"There are a lot of places that are different than Japan, kidlet," he said, chuckling as he gently patted the young Overlord's left shoulder. "I guess you _haven't_ really had much of a chance to get used to this place, what with you staying back in the Tower all this time."

As the six of them continued walking, Zektor turned to look off to their left. There was no one there, not that he could _see_ anyway, but he could still feel a subtle mental prodding coming from somewhere in that direction. He knew it couldn't have been the kidlet; the fact that their little Overlord didn't use his mental powers on Team Five notwithstanding, Zektor knew that their little Overlord – for all his gentleness – wasn't that subtle. He tended to brute-force his way through once he'd gotten angry enough to use his telepathic powers. He wasn't angry, and _this wasn't him._

"Why don't we go see what's over there?" Zektor found himself suggesting.

The mental commands were too strong for him to resist; and combined with the aura of authority he could sense, he knew that it wouldn't be a good idea to try, either. This was probably one of the other Zoalords, wanting to speak with their little Overlord for some reason. For a few moments, even as he turned their group to take a left, Zektor wondered why this other Zoalord hadn't just called the kidlet on his cellphone.

The kidlet _did_ pretty much carry that thing everywhere.

Hell, this guy could have easily contacted their little Overlord with their own telepathic power, if they _really_ wanted to get the kidlet's attention. Still, it wasn't really his place to question the varied eccentricities of the kidlet's fellow Council members. His personal issues with His Excellency Imakarum aside – since _that _was about protecting his own Overlord, and hence could be easily explained as a bit of overzealousness on his part – he didn't have with the rest of the kidlet's fellow Council members.

Still, since he _was_ one of their little Overlord's most trusted bodyguards, it wasn't as if he was just going to abandon him to work things out on his own. _Unlike _some_ people…_

XxXxX

It had taken a great deal of his energy – energy that he would struggle to replenish, now that he had been… _deprived_ of his former resources – to command the Hyper Zoanoid in such a way that he did not think to question just _who_ those commands were ultimately coming from. However, the prize would me more than worth any small exertions on his part. The prize of course, being Chronos' youngest Zoalord, and the focus of Alkanphel's doting affections.

The brat's death would be a crippling blow, not only to that ancient, inscrutable bastard that he hated so _very_ much; and to that insolent lab rat that had taken what had been his rightful position. All of those psychological effects would be excellent for destabilizing the organization that he had formerly been a part of, but they were still ultimately secondary to what he truly wanted from the brat: his Zoacrystal.

The center of power for every Zoalord; what ultimately gave them the kind of power that no mere Zoanoid could ever hope to match.

He would rip it from the whelp's shattered skull, then he would break the brat's neck and tear out his still-beating heart, just to ensure that even Balkus – with all that ancient bastard's damnable skill – would not be able to save him. Still, all of _that_ would have to wait until he had dispensed with the group of Hyper Zoanoids acting as the brat's devoted bodyguards. Every Zoalord selected from among their own an elite force of Hyper Zoanoids to act as their escorts and bodyguards; though in the case of Murakami's brat they were more likely to act as babysitters than proper bodyguards.

Still, the fact remained that fighting them was out of the question. He had none of the abilities that had made him so formidable in combat, and only a fraction of those that had once made him a Zoalord. That was bound to make dealing with the whelp and his loyal soldiers all the more vexing, to be sure.


	67. Consequence

Knowing that one of his own had been killed – or as near as one of them could get to it when there was another close enough to revive them – wasn't what infuriated him. Knowing that that bastard Dr. Balkus had been the one to _make_ the thing that had nearly killed him was annoying, but pretty much what he had been expecting. It was the fact that "the thing that had nearly killed him" had ended up being one of his fellow Lost Units that had really pissed Aptom off.

Zektor, arrogant bastard of a Hyper Zoanoid that he was, had never understood the brotherhood of the Lost Units. He'd died not understanding it. Died in a fight against some behemoth Guyver armor that Aptom had never seen Sho use before. Agito must have been well and truly green with envy once he'd seen what _that_ thing could do.

What_ever_ that new upgrade ended up being called, it was more powerful than any other Guyver that he'd ever seen before. The thing had even had a shield, something that he'd only seen on Ryan's enhanced Guyver; though the one that she had used looked a bit different than the one that kid used. Still, Sho's new Guyver _was _pretty much entirely different than Ryan's, so that was probably why.

But, thinking too much about all of that was boring, so he decided not to anymore. What he really wanted was to find a good meal – or several – and settle down to eat it. Watching as a group of Zoanoids – Hypers, judging by the way they moved – passed him by, Aptom discreetly tailed them. There were five of them; five tasty little morsels that he could munch at his leisure. But what he sensed about the _sixth_ member of their group…

A Zoalord; the gourmet delicacy of all Zoaforms.

Moving closer, Aptom managed to catch his first glimpse of just _which_ Zoalord those five Hyper Zoanoids were guarding. _Well, isn't this interesting._ It was the kid; the little Zoabrat who he hadn't managed to get a good taste of no matter how hard he tried. Seeing him there, that little morsel filled with all of those tantalizing Zoalord powers, would have made his mouth water if he'd still had saliva glands.

Instead, he shapeshifted into one more Alvix in the crowd. These were the most common models in this Section, so it was kind of like subsisting on a diet of bread and rice; possible, but boring as all fuck. But, right now, what he had in mind was a rare, exotic truffle.

And luck him, he just so happened to have one in sight right now.

Grinning slightly as he continued to stalk his prey, always careful to keep out of his sight, the sight of the five Hyper Zoanoids with him, and any Zoanoids who might have been looking his way, Aptom moved deeper into the shadows as he searched for a good place to make his move. The warehouse that they were approaching was a promising place, and he was just starting to consider ways of making Team Five – though how in the hell _those_ particular Hyper Zoanoids had managed to survive when he could so clearly remember devouring them and using their powers to wreak merry havoc among Chronos' various bases he didn't know – leave, when Zektor patted the baby Zoalord's head, and the entirety of Team Five positioned themselves around the warehouse.

Leaving the brat himself to make his way inside, all alone. _Perfect_.

Liquefying his body, so he could slip inside while those five Hyper Zoanoids were all too occupied with their own shit to ask just where in the hell he was going, Aptom make his way after the little Zoalord. There were a lot of pipes, old and starting to rust away but still usable for someone like him, to get him where he wanted to go without that little Zoabrat spotting him. The fact that any Zoalord – no matter _how_ stupid they were – could call up any number of Zoanoids with the slightest mental effort was going to make this kid kind of a bitch to deal with. But that would also make things interesting.

That little bastard _wasn't_ getting away from him _this_ time.

Reforming his body once he was deep enough inside the building that he wouldn't be seen by anyone outside, Aptom scaled the nearest wall and moved quickly but quietly onto the ceiling. Following the little Zoalord this way made things a bit more uncomplicated; not simple, but even Zoalords didn't tend to look up when they were inside, even in _spite_ of the fact that they had agents that could climb walls and ceilings about as easily as he could. One of the many hazards of always relying on telepathy to keep track of where all of your soldiers were.

Aptom chuckled darkly, continuing on his way across the ceiling as he looked for the perfect place to have his meal.

When the little Zoalord stopped, looking around – but still not up – then quickly hiding in the center crate of a stack of the things, Aptom knew that it was the perfect time to make his move. Making his way, quick and quiet as he could, back down to the floor, Aptom dissolved back into his liquid form and oozed across the floor. He knew just where the little Zoalord was hiding, and now all that remained was for him to have his meal and leave.

It'd be really interesting to see what kind of powers that he would gain once he'd finished eating the little Zoalord; probably something to do with wind, since pretty much every one of the Zoanoids he'd eaten in this area had heard the kid being called the Zoalord of Wind.

Quickly enveloping the Zoabrat, Aptom shoved a tendril of biomass down his throat. He was going to eat this little Zoalord, he was going to find out just what kind of powers he'd get from said little Zoalord, and nothing was going to stop him this time. He could still feel his prey struggling, trying to pull free the way all that his meals ended up doing at one point or another.

He always thought it was funny as hell; none of _them_ had ever gotten away, so the fact that this little brat thought he was going to be the first amused him on several different levels.

But, something had started to go wrong: he couldn't detach himself from his prey's body! More than that, his own biomass didn't seem to be responding to his will anymore. It felt like… he was… falling… apart…

XxXxX

Mentally cursing the Lost Number with every vile epithet he could think of, quite a great deal by now considering where he had been and what he had done since he had been… estranged from his former organization. When the brat's father appeared, teleporting into the room with the flash of light that heralded all Zoalord arrivals, he moved deeper into the shadows of the warehouse and settled back to observe any further interaction on the part of the two Zoalords.

Perhaps claiming his prize would be somewhat more difficult than he had anticipated.

Of course, if that wretched Lost Number had not deigned to pull that _truly_ idiotic stunt, then he would have most likely been able to take his intended prize without any interference from the brat's father. Still, with the Lost Number poised to take the blame for what he had taken the time to arrange, it would be simple to plan another trap like this; the child really was embarrassingly naïve, particularly considering the fact that he was a Chronos overlord.

There _would_ be another opportunity to capture the boy, he would make certain of it…


	68. Smuggling

The newest shipment of smuggled weapons and ammunition had arrived, with a mid-sized force of Aptoms to bring it in. Sumio Odagiri, once a mere researcher in Chronos' Relic's Point facility, had been fascinated by Aptom ever since the two of them had first met. Dr. Balkus and most of his ilk might have considered Aptom a failure and worse, but to Odagiri and his new colleagues, the Lost Number was both a friend and a fascinating research subject.

He _had_ been rather belligerent at the beginning of things, but considering what the life of a Lost Number in Chronos entailed, Odagiri found that he understood; he himself still had issues with the company.

He was glad, also, to know that at least two of his young comrades from Relic's Point had survived; and the manner of their survival was also in itself rather interesting. He'd been _hoping_ that the laboratory setup in his basement would be put to some use besides the refinement of Chronos' Zoanoid models. And the use that they had put it to _had_ been rather ingenious: deliberately becoming Lost Numbers to escape the effects of the anti-rebellion virus. He _was_ saddened to know that most of their group had died, but the fact that Toshiaki Hayami and Howard Jackson were now capable of fighting Zoanoids on equal terms – and not succumbing to the telepathy of the Zoalords – was something of a consolation, at least.

Thoughts of the Zoalords lead almost inevitably to thoughts of Masaki and Kenji Murakami; that those two had become Zoalords under the command of Chronos' leader Alkanphel was not something that _any_ of them had ever expected. Seeing all twelve of the Zoalords on television as they announced their dominance to the world had given the ACTF, as well as his own cadre of rebellious scientists, a rare chance to look their true enemies in the face.

Each of the Zoalords had been threatening in their own unique way, even the effeminately pretty ones such as Edward Caerleon, Li Yentsui, and even Alkanphel himself. Alkanphel's appearance had been the most startling; he really hadn't known _what_ to expect the supreme leader of the Chronos syndicate to actually look like, but none of his mental images had included a petite young man with white hair, pointed ears, and catlike yellow eyes.

Alkanphel hadn't looked a day over twenty, which was very interesting given the fact that Dr. Balkus, Waferdanos, Kaburaal khan, and Jearvill Bun Hiyern had all shown complete deference to him and all of them had looked twice his age; and in the cases of Khan and Balkus, quite a bit more than twice. Seeing that had lead to speculation about just how old Alkanphel _really_ was, since Chronos was a very old and powerful organization and no one of Alkanphel's – apparent – age would have been able to oust older, more experienced people like Khan or Balkus from their positions.

Learning that Khan was eleventh in their hierarchy, while Balkus was merely the second, had lead to speculation that Alkanphel was older than he looked; and this in turn had lead to the idea that Zoalords might be immortal.

That certainly fit, since nearly every one of Chronos' Council of twelve Zoalords had looked substantially older than Alkanphel, and he had introduced himself as the supreme overlord of Chronos. The other nine Zoalords had deferred to him in the same way that Khan and Balkus had, though Masaki and Kenji had been far more submissive than any of the others. He couldn't accept – he _wouldn't_ accept – that either of them would have acted like that _without_ heavy coercion; Masaki had hated Chronos almost more than words could express, and Kenji…

Well, Kenji had merely wanted to help his father, and protect him; a startlingly mature decision for one so young, but not so surprising once one learned of his circumstances: Kenji hadn't truly been a child since the day Chronos agents had murdered his mother.

Four years was far too young to have to grow up; far too young to see the things that Kenji had to have seen while Masaki was fighting Chronos to avenge both his wife and himself. But, that was how things had turned out.

And now, out of all of those who had tried to keep Professor Yamamura's dream alive, only himself, Howard, and Toshiaki remained. The other scientists who had chosen to join their cause had all been informed of the sacrifices made by those who had come before, naturally. Including the living sacrifice of Masaki and Kenji Murakami.

He wouldn't ever call them by the names that Chronos had given them; that would have been an insult to the memory of a close friend and his child.

Finding out that Professor Yamamura had actually _survived_ the Arizona debacle, with the help of the Anti Chronos Task Force, and getting to work with his old mentor one last time had been a pleasure that he had not been expecting to have. The Professor himself had still died, however; though more due to the effects of the at-that-time imperfect cure than old age. Professor Yamamura _had_ worked with him to refine what at that time had been little more than a temporary stopgap against the advance of the virus.

It was rather ingenious, he had to admit: it gave the body just enough Zoanoid traits – without affecting the brain more than the barest minimum that was needed to ensure survival – that the virus itself found nothing amiss within their nervous systems. Eventually, the immune system cleaned it out.

Of course, even the most rudimentary Zoaformation process – as this one most definitely was – had some side effects. The ones that he had noticed, both in himself and in the other treated scientists that he had worked with in what had once been NORAD, were increased speed, stamina, faster nerve response, and better night vision. Of course, the most profound effect that he had noticed on himself was the loss of the slight astigmatism that had forced him to wear glasses for most of his adult life.

He still kept his old glasses in his room, along with the photos of himself alongside the others of the Relic's Point group, and the photo of himself and Professor Yamamura. And, as he packed up another case for transport – there were people down in the Alpha Site who were beginning to crave things that could only be found outside of it – he wondered what the Professor would have made of Aptom.

"Hey, Doc!"

_Speaking of Aptom,_ he chuckled softly, amused. "Yes? Is there something I can help you with?"

"Have you got that new batch of anti-virals ready?" the scarred Lost Number asked.

"Yes." He nodded. "My colleagues and I have just finished two more batches. However, if you find anyone interested, be sure to contact me and I'll be glad to teach them how to make it for themselves."

"Given all the times you've told _me_ how to make that stuff so's I can pass the information onto your fellow Docs, I think I might just be able to teach them that kind of thing myself."

"Are you sure?" he asked. "I'm well-versed with the issues you seem to have with your memory."

And indeed he was; there were times that the almost preternaturally efficient communication that Aptom had between the various clones that he had made of himself seemed to break down, resulting in poor or even nonexistent sharing of information.

"Well, I haven't been blown up lately," Aptom said, chuckling with slightly mordant good-humor. "So that helps." Aptom's scared face became unreadable for a moment, then he frowned. "Speaking of help, I've been having some more problems with those Enzyme IIIs lately."

"Yes; I've been studying their immune-defenses, and I think I've found a way to make you immune to them. Do you remember that brood of Enzyme IIIs we found here?"

"It's not like I'm going to forget anytime soon," Aptom said wryly. "That _was_ only five weeks ago." He looked thoughtful, for a moment. "I have been wondering just what you and yours were going to do with those things. Particularly since it's not like _I _can take them off your hands."

"It took us several days to even _begin_ studying them," he said, as he closed and locked the containers filled with food and ammunition, then handed them off to one of Aptom's many clones. "We ended up having to severely dilute their blood when we took samples to analyze; it kept corroding our instruments." He chuckled with rueful nostalgia, as the Aptom-clone to his left shoved the container into his chest and made sure that it was fully concealed within the malleable flesh of his torso. "It was almost like we were dealing with the Relic again." He sobered then, becoming serious. "I did manage to extract some of the viral strain from the diluted blood, however. And by using some of the stored samples of your cells that you had chosen to turn over, I was able to synthesize an antiviral agent. You should be able to assimilate it here, and then generate more on your own. They are your own cells, after all."

"I was wondering why t kept feeling like I was trying to digest an Enzyme III those two weeks ago; I knew none of the others would have been stupid enough to try eating one of _those_ things again. I know damn well what they do to me."

"I'm sorry if I caused you any pain," he said. He'd known that all of Aptom's cells were sentient to some degree, as well as being connected to the strange form of hive-mind that Aptom had developed over the course of his undirected evolution, but he'd not given much thought to what that _meant_.

Clearly, he should have done so.

"If that little experiment of yours makes it possible for me to start eating Enzyme _IIIs_ now, for the first time since that old bastard Balkus made them, then you can consider things between us even," Aptom said, a grin stretching his scarred face. "Of course, if it doesn't, then I might just have to think up something creatively unpleasant to do to you later."

"I'll keep that in mind," he said, handing over a syringe filled with the new anti-viral strain and wondering for a moment if he would ever get said syringe back.

Aptom wasn't really the most conventional of people, even at the best of times.

Grabbing both ends of the syringe in his hands, Aptom twisted them until the glass body of the syringe shattered, allowing the contents to spill into his waiting mouth. _Well, I suppose that's one more syringe I won't be using again,_ he mused, smiling ruefully as Aptom licked his lips.


	69. Childhood

He'd paid for the flowers, but the proprietor of the shop was giving him a Look; he could all but feel the eyes on his back as he turned.

"Hot date?" the slightly older man asked, his eyes crinkling up at the edges as he smiled knowingly.

Ben smiled back, but he couldn't help feeling that his own effort fell somewhat flat. "You might say that," he said softly. "Thanks for the flowers."

Leaving then, before the flower seller could think of anything else to ask or say, Ben made his way back to his car. It wasn't such a long drive to where he was going, and the rout was nice enough. The long-stemmed roses – fifteen, one for each of those years – would keep fine in the passenger seat until he had arrived.

Pulling into the parking lot of Angel's Rest, Ben left the car and headed for the cemetery gates, roses in hand. There was someone he had to visit, before he reported to Overlord Shin Rubeo Amniculos for his interview; he fully intended to make use of the time he had left.

Following the rows of neatly carved headstones, Ben made his way toward a familiar grave; one that he made a point of visiting whether he was having good days or bad days.

Once he'd made it to that particular grave, Ben crouched in front of it. Noticing the bouquet of withered flowers in the holder, he plucked them out and tossed them aside, making a mental note to throw them out when he left. Placing his own bouquet in the holder, Ben allowed himself to relax slightly.

"Hey, kid," he said, his voice gentle. "It's real nice out this time of year; I'll bet you wish you were still here to see it." He paused for a moment, his gaze resting contemplatively on the headstone in front of him; the dates on it had far too few years between them. Kids weren't supposed to die, especially not like Derrik had.

Zoanoids had stronger parental instincts than almost any human, but on the other hand they _were_ also more prone to out-of-control rages like the one he'd had just yesterday. He still hoped that Brenda was going to be all right, but he also found himself wondering just how many other kids were suffering at the hands of their parents, or even be killed by them. Zoanoid or human, it didn't really matter.

Death was death; didn't matter who it was caused by.

"I'm sorry. I guess it was pretty heartless of me to go and bring something like _that_ up. This is a pretty nice place to be, I guess," he said, and sighed deeply. "At least, for… the kind of place it is. You really shouldn't be here, though." He looked at the dates on the headstone again. "Not at your age, anyway."

Settling back into his silent contemplation, Ben started to hear footsteps coming up toward him from his left-hand side. Looking over that way, checking if the newcomer was visible yet, but it turned out that they weren't, not quite yet. Turning back to the grave in front of him, Ben blew out his in-drawn breath.

"Sorry about that, but I think someone else is coming to visit."

Turning to look to his left again, Ben waited for the footsteps to stop; waited to find out just who this newcomer was, and who it was that _they_ were coming to visit.

When the man, dressed in a nondescript suit and obviously working for Chronos in some capacity or other, came into his field of view, Ben wondered just who he had come to visit.

Zoanoid bodies didn't linger after death the way human bodies did; their bodies weren't buried, and their deaths were marked by memorial stones in another part of the cemetery. Maybe he had family here, but Ben hoped that the man was visiting his parents, or his grandparents. He couldn't stand the thought of there being more kids like Derrik in this place.

"You're Benjamin Stakowski, right?"

"I am," he said, nodding in confirmation and looking more closely at the Zoanoid, checking to see if he could recognize at least _something_ about the man standing next to him.

No luck.

"Would you come with me, please?"

"Wha…" Ben paused, as he considered the reason that someone from Chronos would be looking for _him_ of all people. "You mean it's today? I thought the date hadn't been set yet," he said, rising back to his feet.

"His Excellency is particularly curious to know just why you killed that woman," the other Zoanoid said, and Ben clenched his teeth at the reminder of Brenda's worthless mother.

"So the date was moved up to today," Ben said, nodding and turning to make his way out of the cemetery, but stopping when he heard his fellow Zoanoid speaking up again.

"So, who were you paying a visit to?"

"Someone I wish I'd known better," he said; he left it at that.


	70. Beginnings

He'd just finished a particularly large and enjoyable meal, and now he was looking forward to either daydreaming or curling up with a good comic book until the after-meal drowsiness had had a chance to wear off. There was also the specter of next week's out-of-base excursion hanging over his head; he didn't really know what it would be like, to be carried around inside of Aptom's mushy, gooey body when a certain cannibal maniac _wasn't_ trying to eat him, but it was bound to be… _interesting_.

Ol' Snake-head hadn't stopped complaining since the trip had been announced the day before yesterday, of course, so needless to say the two of them hadn't actually talked much lately.

"Ryan!"

"Yeah?" Turning to see who'd called him, he found himself facing Bryan Presscott.

"You mind coming with me?"

"I would, but I guess I'll do it anyway," he drawled, smirking as he fell into step behind the brunet ACTF soldier.

There was about half a minute of silence, probably Bryan trying to process what he'd just said, then an explosive guffaw when he finally seemed to get it. "You've got a really weird sense of humor, kid. You know that, right?"

"So I've been told," he returned, smiling breezily. As he buffed his nails on the green t-shirt he was wearing, Ryan could hear the soldier chuckling. "So, what's the what? Why was it so important for _me_ to come along with you?"

"There's a message from Agito Makashima, over our scrambled high-priority frequency."

_Lovely_. "So? I don't really see what that has to do with _me_," he said, rolling his left shoulder to work out a kink he'd just noticed. "Doesn't Atkins usually handle that stuff?"

"Makashima asked for you personally. By name; and he didn't sound all that happy with you, besides."

_Well, I guess that answers the question of whether he noticed the little surprise I left for him by now or not._ Swallowing a snigger, Ryan reflected for a moment on the three-day quiet spell he'd been going through. It was weird, not having Elegen making comments – smart-assed or otherwise – on what he was doing, or thinking, or planning.

He'd really gotten used to having the non-corporeal doofus around to talk about things with, bounce ideas off of, or even argue with just for the hell of it. Things being how they were between the two of them – shared mind and all – it was easy to tell that Elegen was sulking and not sleeping the way he usually did when he wasn't either needed or allowed to take Ryan's own body out for a brief spin.

He'd had just about enough of his 'inner-Zoanoid's' moodiness, but he was going to be generous and give the purple dork until the "sleep" hours to get his nonexistent head on straight; and if he didn't, then there was going to be an almighty reckoning between the two of them.

Still, for now there was the matter of dealing with a certain Almighty Bastard King. Or, considering what he was probably calling for, laughing in his face. The trip through the halls and corridors of the Alpha Site took less time than it had seemed to when he'd done it before, but then maybe that was because he was being lead through them instead of making his own way the way he did before. Of course, the fact that he'd seemingly gone from the Hero of the ACTF – one of them, anyway – to little more than a glorified, alien-empowered tunneling machine was worth a few chuckles.

Hell, he'd probably be laughing it up once he got back to his current room.

"You haven't done anything truly demented, have you?" Bryan asked, turning to look back at him.

"No," he said, with an amused, secretive grin. "I don't think it qualifies as _truly_ demented."

He winked, smirking in the face of the incredulous expression that Bryan had turned on him. But, they arrived at the main comm. setup before the soldier could do more than start to open his mouth, so Bryan pretty much lost the chance to ask his question until the end of Agito's little bitch-session. And by then, he'd already know the answer, so it was pretty much a moot point in any case.

The main comm. room had been set up around a large screen; he could still clearly recall helping with the assembly – mostly for lack of anything better to do at the time – and now standing in front of the fully assembled screen would have felt like the culmination of the work that they had all done together. _Would have_, if not for the fact that Agito Makashima – King Bastard himself – had appeared on said screen, and now his scowling visage dominated a good portion of it.

On the one hand, listening to Agito bitch about what he'd gotten up to in his spare time at the Thunderbolts' base in Japan wasn't particularly high on his list of priorities; on the other hand, this was going to be _fun_.

"Crouger, what did you _do_?" Agito demanded, enough ice in his voice to freeze a tropical ocean.

"What, no hello?" he tilted his head, biting back a smirk as he folded his arms. "How rude."

"Did you think you were clever? That I wouldn't notice the stink bombs you managed to smuggle into my room?"

"_Stink bombs_?" he echoed, not quite sure himself if he was more annoyed or amused. "What do you think I am, an amateur? I don't need no lousy _stink bombs_."

"Then what _was_ it? Rotten eggs?"

"Close, but you're in the wrong food-group," he paused for a moment, grinning to make the Cheshire Cat proud. "It was two pounds of rancid meat."

He could just _see_ Agito blowing a fuse. "_What_?"

"I'm kinda surprised it hasn't started breeding maggots yet," he said, hand to his chin in an exaggerated "thinking" pose. "I'm not really surprised that you haven't managed to find the meat, though," he chuckled. "There must have been this unbearable, impassable wall of _stench_ that just hit you in the face once you opened the door."

He'd have to remember to talk to Aptom about this later; him being the one who had helped with the smuggling of the raw meat and all of the leg-work needed. Silent sounds of mental laughter prompted Ryan to turn his attention inward, already suspecting what he was going to find, but wanting to confirm it all the same.

_)Snake-head?(_

_)Have I told you this week that you're completely insane?(_

_)No, I think you _skipped _this week,( _he sent. _)I see you finally managed to stop sulking. And this after I was just starting to look forward to yelling at you. I even had this elaborate threat all worked out: it involved bowling balls, and Gummi worms, and dental floss. I think there might have even been melons involved, but I can't quite recall all of the specifics anymore.(_

_)You're one of a kind, kid,(_ Elegen sent, giving the impression that he'd have been grinning if he still had a face.

_)Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment.(_


	71. Diggers

Blinking as he came back to full awareness, the first thing Ryan saw was the blank main screen. Relieved that he wouldn't have to deal with His Royal Assness but curious about just why that was, he turned to Sean.

"What's up with G3?"

Sean chuckled. "After he realized that you weren't paying attention to him anymore, he lectured Atkins about keeping you under control, then he cut the connection from his end."

"What were you _thinking_, Crouger?" Atkins demanded. "Your actions could have easily endangered the alliance."

"Relax, Army Man," he said, shooting the General an annoyed look. "King Bastard knows I'm not acting on behalf of "the alliance" when I prank him like that; he may be a bastard, but he's not _petty_."

"What I'm more interested in is just how Agito managed to miss the two pounds of _rancid meat_ laying around in his room," Sean said, turning a half-bemused half-amused look on Ryan; he smirked right back.

"He wouldn't have _seen_ it so much as _smelled_ it when he first came in," he said. "Besides that, it was all the way back under his bed; not many people usually check there, unless they're trying to hide something in the first place."

"How did you manage to get two pounds of rancid meat under Agito's bed?" Sean asked, looking more confused than amused now. "In fact, how did you manage to get from the kitchens – or wherever you found that stuff – carrying two pound of rancid meat in the first place?"

"He had help," Aptom put in, drawing the attention of pretty much everyone in the room.

"What're _you_ doing here, Maniac?" he asked, turning a nonplussed expression on his partner-in-crime. "Come to watch the show?"

"Well, that and-"

"The timetable's been moved up," Atkins said, stepping forward to face the three of them more squarely. "Our sources in Intelligence have informed us that the area in question is clear of Chronos patrols; given the obvious fact that we have little way of knowing in advance just how long that window is going to last, it was deemed in our best interests to move quickly." The General turned a sternly questioning look on him. "Crouger, are you ready?"

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be, I guess," he said, even as Elegen started swearing a blue streak a mile wide; he could only hope that his 'inner-Zoanoid' wasn't about to start sulking again.

That would be a real pain in the ass.

"I think you might want to transform, kid," Aptom said, even as he started to shapeshift into a Gregole. "After all, _you_ have to breathe," he grinned with the lizardlike Zoanoid's mouthful of sharp teeth. "I_ don't_."

Calling his Guyver, not particularly wanting to either suffocate _or _to feel Aptom's almost liquid body pressing in on him any more than was strictly necessary under the circumstances, he waited for a moment as the Unit forced the usual puffs of air out through its facial-vents. "Okay, so what do you want me to do _now_?"

"Just stand in front of me, kid," Aptom said, grinning in that demented way he always did when he found something particularly amusing. "I'll take care of everything from here on out. Just make sure that you either move when I move, or just relax and let me move for the both of us. Got that? Now- what in the hell are you _snickering_ about?"

"Do you have _any_ idea just how kinky that sounded?"

"You _always_ have to jump right to the sex when you're talking to me?"

"It's one of my many talents," he said, smirking right back at the Zoanoid-eater. "Besides, you're a fine one to talk, Mr. I-have-a-psychotic-aversion-to-clothes."

_)I'd just like to state for the record that I hate this mission.(_

_)And what, you think I didn't hear you the _last_ fifty-million times you said that? Your needle get stuck, or are you just trying to bug me?(_

_)You suck, kid.(_

_)Yeah, and I love you, too, Snake-head.(_

When he regained full, conscious awareness of his surroundings once more, Ryan felt Aptom's pudding-like body oozing up and over his back; it covered the back of his neck and slid up over his head not soon after. He could feel a bit of suction on his arms and legs as Aptom pulled them backward and into his malleable bodymass, and he decided that it would probably be a good idea to remind a certain someone about just what was what.

"Hey, Jimmy Eat World, just remember: if I feel you snacking on me, I'll blow your head off and deal with the consequences later."

"Well, I guess I don't mind your new nickname," Aptom said, laughing. "But, you've already made _that_ threat. Are you starting to run out of material, or do you just not care anymore?"

Before he could think up a suitably crushing retort, Aptom had moved up and over what passed for the Guyver's mouthpiece; effectively silencing him to anyone who wasn't another Guyver. The Zoanoid-eater covered his eyes just after that, and then all he was able to feel was said Zoanoid-eater settling into place around him.

_)I hate that guy.(_

_)I definitely hear you there, Snake-head.(_

Here he was, in the center of what pretty much amounted to a human-shaped bowl of pudding sans bowl, and he was getting ready to head back into Chronos-controlled territory; a term that pretty much encompassed the rest of the world. For now, anyway. And all this just so he could help dig a tunnel; it was weird as all fuck.

_+Ryan, are you doing all right in there?+_

_+Yeah, Sean; I'm just peachy. Snug as a bug in a rug, really.+_

_+You're being sarcastic, aren't you.+_

Duh_. Here I am, stuck inside a living, occasionally breathing, giant, sapient amoeba with a severe attitude problem. What's _not_ to like?+_

_+Are you having second thoughts?+_

Sean sounded genuinely concerned, so Ryan decided he'd best reassure him. _+No, Sean. I'm just venting a bit.+_

_+Are you sure?+_

_+Sean, I'm fine.+_ he decided to change the subject then, before things could get too stupid. _+So, are we all ready to go?+_

_+Yeah. None of us can see you anymore; not from the front, the back, or the sides. So it's a good bet that no one who doesn't know you're in there is going to be able to spot you.+_

_+Well there's a bit of good news, at least. What's say we get this show on the road?+_


	72. Uprising

Seething, Agito slowly lowered himself back into his chair. It would not do for any of his underlings to see him with anything less than his usual composure; which was the reason that he had opted to take make this particular call alone in his quarters.

The fact that Crouger had gone so far as to put _rotting food_ in his room… no, he would not give Crouger the satisfaction of making him angry, even _with_ the other Guyver half a world away.

Standing, taking only a moment to wipe the last traces of emotion from his face, Agito left his quarters and made his way toward the main control center of this installation. He had been planning this attack on Chronos Japan's Cloud Gate – the refurbished version of the Cloud Tower building – for a rather long time. There were thousands of Zoanoids, not to mention the two Zoalords, contributing to the building's defense; those would need to be dealt with, but there was also another issue.

And, while it _was_ true that Fukamachi – sentimentalist that he was – would never be able to face the Zoalord who had once been Masaki Murakami, the fact still remained that _he_ was the only one who could call the Gigantic from wherever it rested when it was not in use. Therefore, in spite of the younger Guyver's clear disadvantages, he would have to be brought along.

Agito was certain that his Thunderbolts would be able to deal with the Zoanoids, while he and Fukamachi dealt with the Hyper Zoanoids; and with the Gigantic they – or rather, he – would be capable of fighting the Zoalords on equal terms once either of them appeared.

Rallying his troops in the way that had become nearly second nature to him by this time, he went to see about securing Fukamachi's cooperation for this endeavor.

Though he knew, as well as anyone who had gotten to know the younger Guyver, that Fukamachi would be all but useless to him if Murakami elected to take part in the coming battle. Still, the fact that he was also the only one who could presently command the Gigantic to appear gave Agito a reason to tolerate his presence.

Matters between them were resolved swiftly enough for even his taste, and soon the two of them stood – fully armored – atop one of the many buildings adjacent to Cloud Gate.

"You're certain that providing a distraction while I deal with the Zoalord will not be any trouble for you, Fukamachi?"

"Yes," Fukamachi said, nodding. "I can call the Gigantic if either of us needs it, and I can also handle the Hyper Zoanoids. I almost wish Ryan was here, though."

Mildly annoyed at the mention of Crouger, but not enough to show it by any means, Agito returned his attention to the matter at hand.

"Be that as it may, only we are in a position to handle this."

"I know, Agito," Fukamachi said, sounding resolved; Agito idly wondered how long that would last.

"Good. Now, the Zoalord who commands this region – one Fried'rich van Purg'stall – resides at the topmost level of the building. Once you have dealt with the last of the Hyper Zoanoids, meet me just below that, and we will deal with the Zoalord together."

Leaping off of the rooftop just as Fukamachi called the Gigantic to him, Agito reflected on just what he hadn't told the younger Guyver. There was, in fact, a greater than average chance that Murakami would be present at Cloud Gate when they arrived. Or that he would come when Purg'stall inevitably called for aid.

XxXxX

Lord Fried'rich had asked him – once the approach of Agito Makashima's Thunderbolts had been confirmed – to come and wait for the inevitable appearance of the Guyvers. He was rather looking forward to seeing Sho once more. Considering how weak-willed the boy had proven himself to be, there was a better than average chance that he could convince him to join Chronos; even if merely to have the chance to renew the friendship that he constantly tried to remind Imakarum of.

And, even if he was _not_ willing to do such a thing, the little Guyver boy would be a great deal more simply dealt with now that he no longer had that annoyance Ryan Crouger to hide behind.

The presence of Agito Makashima was a cause for some concern, however. That boy was far more ruthless than Sho could ever hope to be; even if he _had_ formed any attachment to Masaki Murakami, he would not have hesitated to sever those ties and fight. Even though the Dark Guyver was – to the best of his present knowledge – unable to use the Gigantic upgrade, Agito Makashima was annoyingly persistent even as an unenhanced Guyver. In that respect, the boy was very similar to Ryan Crouger.

A fact that made Imakarum all the more pleased when he remembered the fact that _that_ particular thorn in Chronos' side had long since been eradicated.

Crouger had actually been slightly more dangerous than Makashima himself – certainly he was _far_ more dangerous than Sho could hope to be – since the tactics he used in battle were unrestrained by petty things such as honor; and sometimes even by common sense. It was one of the things that Imakarum was glad that he would never have to deal with again: Ryan Crouger and the rest of the Anti Chronos Task Force.

Turning slightly as he heard the mental screams of dying Hyper Zoanoids, Imakarum caught a glimpse through the eyes of a Galmaru just before it had its body completely destroyed. It seemed that Sho Fukamachi had indeed come to pay them a visit, after all. It was best to prepare a suitable welcome for him.

Contacting a small force of Standard Zoanoids that he had previously stationed in the lower laboratory to monitor the processing of his Enzyme IIIs, he gave them instructions to be prepared to release the creatures when or if he gave the word. It was always best to have at least one contingency in place when one was dealing with Guyvers; if nothing else, his encounters with Ryan Crouger had at least taught him _that_.

And, even one as weak-willed as Sho Fukamachi could surprise you if he was backed into a corner. Time would tell if that would be the case here, however; but in the end it was still best to be prepared.

As this attack also involved those irksome Thunderbolts, Imakarum would have known even _without_ confirmation that Agito Makashima was involved as well. Makashima could never be persuaded to join Chronos, arrogant child that he was, and so would have to be killed so that Lord Alkanphel's plans could proceed without interference from yet another Guyver.

When he heard the sound of footfalls – two distinct sets of them, no less – on the stairs leading up to the topmost room, he smiled slightly. It was time now, to see if young Sho Fukamachi would be willing to give up his futile crusade against Chronos, or if he would need to die alongside Agito Makashima.

Die like every other Guyver on the face of the Earth.

_-Dad?-_

_-Kenji? Is something wrong?-_

_-No. I was just wondering how you were doing.-_

_-I'm fine, Kenji-chan. But it's not a good time for me to talk. I'm waiting for someone.-_

_-Who are you waiting for, Dad?-_

He smiled gently, aware even as he did so that Kenji would not be able to see him doing so. _-An old friend; one that I have not seen in quite some time.-_

_-Can I meet him, Dad?-_ Kenji asked, sounding eager enough that Imakarum smiled wider.

_-Provided that he decides to come with me when I return to your Section, I'll introduce him to you.-_

_-Okay. But, what if he doesn't?-_

_-Then, I'm afraid that the two of us will be forced to part ways,-_ he said; it _was_ a regrettable thing: Sho's power as Guyver I would be a great asset to Chronos, but it was the boy's _nature_ that had to be taken into account when dealing with him.

_-Are you going to kill him?-_

_-Only if it becomes necessary,-_ he said gently, not wanting to alarm Kenji but not wanting to give his son false hope, either. _-Why don't you go see if one of the Galmaru wants to play with you?-_ he asked, knowing that it would be better for Kenji if he wasn't allowed to wallow in uncertainty for too long.

_-Big brother Zektor said that he was going to take me out for ice cream. I just wanted to see if you were okay first, Dad.-_

_What?!_ The fact that Kenji was being treated to dessert was not the problem; his son deserved only the best, and anyone who disputed that in his presence was going to suffer the consequences of their insolence. No, it was simply the one who was actually _doing_ the treating who was so troublesome: Zektor. That arrogant Hyper Zoanoid was evidently still trying to take Imakarum's rightful place in Kenji's heart.

_-Why don't you ask one of the Galmaru if _they_ would like to come, too?-_ he asked, not particularly wanting his son to be alone with Zektor for any longer than was absolutely necessary, but at the same time knowing that Kenji would be sad if he forbade him to go.

_-Do you really think they would?-_

_They'd _better_,_ Imakarum snarled silently. _-I'm sure they will, my Kenji-chan. Everyone likes ice cream, I think.-_

_-Okay, Dad,-_ Kenji said, cheerful again in the face of Imakarum's reassurance. _-Good luck with your friend!-_

_-Thank you, my son. Enjoy your ice cream,-_ he said, pleased once again to hear Kenji so happy.

_-I will!-_

When the telepathic link that the two of them shared went dormant, Imakarum turned his attention back to the doors at the far end of the room, just as they swished open and Guyvers I and III stepped inside. Imakarum smiled; it was time now, to see if Sho Fukamachi would be willing to join Chronos' glorious cause, or if he would choose to die trying to oppose it.

He was certain that Lord Alkanphel would be pleased with him, no matter the outcome.


	73. Decisions

The interview had proceeded smoothly and without incident. It had also given Shin a great deal to think about; not all of it pleasant. The all-too-weak bond that existed between some parents and their children… the fact that some humans were so disturbed that they would actually attempt to _murder_ those of their own flesh and blood…

Imakarum Mirabilis, even _with_ his myriad faults, would never do any such thing to Ingriam; if anything, the Twelfth Zoalord seemed to go far to the _other_ extreme.

Standing at the gravesite of the boy whose memory had been so strong as to drive an otherwise rational, almost placid Zoanoid to murder, Shin found that he could understand the reasons that Benjamin Stakowski had had for killing that woman. What he had seen her do to her own daughter, combined with the memories that he still carried from _this_ child's death… Shin would have been honestly surprised if this particular outcome had _not_ come about.

As he stood over the grave of a child who should not have died, Shin made a personal vow. No other child would suffer Derrik Lewis' fate; even if he had to order the processing of every parent within his Section, such an atrocity could never be allowed to reoccur. Such a vow would, of course, mean nothing to this boy.

He was beyond all Earthly cares or troubles, resting wherever the dead took their repose.

Shin had never truly given much thought to the afterlife, but he hoped that the boy had managed to find _some_ measure of peace after what he had suffered. Bowing his head slightly, as a gesture of both sorrow and resolve, the Fourth Zoalord Shin Rubeo Amniculos turned and left the graveyard. His Zoanoid aides would be wondering what had become of him by now.

Also, it was best that he begin making preparations for larger-scale processing. He would offer it to the humans as an option, of course, but he would also be sure to include enough incentives to make the offer all the more attractive to them. He would also have the unprocessed parents in his Section monitored all the more closely. They were, after all, the ones far more likely to harm their children and go unnoticed doing so.

When or if such incidents were reported to him, the offending party would be brought in for immediate processing; and depending on the severity of the offence, it would be possible for their child or children to become wards of Chronos. That was his plan, and now all that remained was to attend to the logistics of such an operation so that it could at last be implemented.

As he came back into sight of his transport, Shin saw his Zoanoid aides moving hurriedly to reform the neat, orderly lines that they had arrayed themselves in when he had left.

"Welcome back, Your Excellency," Michelle Walters, a Ranza-type and one of his most trusted confidants, greeted him with a neat bow. "Is there anywhere else that you'd like to be taken, or would you simply prefer to return to the Pillars of Heaven now?"

"Thank you," he said, acknowledging Michelle's courtesy with a nod. "I _would_ prefer to return; there are some things that I must see to."

"Of course," Michelle said, with a sharp nod. "I'll help you get settled then, sir. Just follow me.

"Thank you."

The other Zoanoids, his remaining aides, and the small group of Hyper Zoanoids that acted as his bodyguards when he was outside of the Pillars, all quickly stood at attention as he passed them. It was something that he had become accustomed to, after all the years that he had spent with the organization: even in places such as this, where the population was composed of Zoanoids and placid, peace-loving humans, there was always the possibility – no matter _how_ remote – that one of the Chronos Overlords would be subject to an attack.


	74. Protectors

The fact that he had a Guyver all tucked away inside what passed for his stomach was funny enough, but the fact that every checkpoint that Chronos had set up had greeted him and his like they were all old friends _really_ took the cake. He'd gotten the opportunity to shake a lot of hands lately; good eating all around. Atkins was going to just love the fact that his spy-network had gotten so much larger; he just enjoyed the chance to get some more exotic meats in his diet.

_Speaking of exotic meats…_ Aptom seethed briefly; he still hadn't managed to get a good taste of that little brat of a Zoalord. He'd even lost another of his own in the process. It was annoying as all hell: the brat was possibly one of the _dumbest_ Zoalords that Chronos had ever created – barring Gyou, of course, since _that_ guy had gotten himself killed and replaced by one of his own prototypes – and here he couldn't even eat the little brat even _after_ he'd been stalking Zoanoids for the better part of two years.

Something was _seriously_ wrong with that scenario.

Settling back into his seat with a sub-vocal grumble, Aptom licked his lips and wondered idly how his favorite little smartass was doing. It wasn't like he could just go peeling open his chest to check; there was still too much of a chance that the gray Guyver could be discovered. The transport was searched at every checkpoint, and if the little morsels all around him found out that he could carry a whole _Guyver_ around inside of him, that would inevitably lead to questions about just what in the hell he was,

And _that_ would lead directly to the kind of trouble he didn't need right now.

He could go looking for some trouble, and the meals that came with it, once he'd gotten finished with this boring transport job and could take some time off. For the moment, all he had to do was finish getting a certain little wiseass of a Guyver out to the site, so all of them could start breaking ground already.

XxXxX

As he dodged another strike from Gigantic Dark, Imakarum reminded himself once again never to believe anything that he or one of the other members of the Council had not confirmed for themselves. Agito Makashima was indeed capable of commanding the Gigantic armor. And, because he lacked strong ties to the person that Imakarum had once been – and would never be again – or else the ties that he had were going ignored, Imakarum knew that he would receive no quarter from the Third Guyver.

His current situation was rather reminiscent of his battles with the Fifth Guyver, but Imakarum consoled himself with the fact that he would never have to deal with that annoying boy ever again; the fact that he had killed the Fifth Guyver and no one in Chronos would ever have to contend with him again. One agile, determined, unsentimental Guyver was more than enough for anyone to have to face.

_-Dad, are you okay?-_

_-I'm fine,-_ he said, sensing the distress in his son's voice, and wanting to assuage it as soon as he could. _-Though I don't really have the time to talk right now, Kenji-chan.-_

_-Oh, okay. I just wanted to tell you that I'm gonna take a bath now.-_

_-All right,-_ he said, raising his barrier to deflect the hail of overpowered Pressure Cannon blasts that that irksome Makashima was aiming at him. _-If you need someone to help you wash up, remember to call one of the Galmaru.-_ he dodged yet another blow from Gigantic Dark, then turned and battered the brat's own barrier with several more fully powered Gravity Bullets. _-What are you giggling about, my Kenji-chan?-_

_-Zektor bought me a squeaky duck.-_

Imakarum seethed, releasing a hail of overpowered Gravity Bullets in an effort to pound Makashima's barrier out of his way; to shatter it so that he could get his hands on the brat who dared to call himself Zeus so that he could rend him limb-from-limb. It may have been true that he could not deal with Zektor as he wished to – Kenji would be sad if he did – but Agito Makashima, Gigantic Dark, was _not_ one of his son's friends. The Dark Guyver was a threat, to everyone who worked for Chronos.

He was a threat to Kenji, and so he would die; and so would everyone else who opposed the goals and interests of Chronos.

_-He even bought me a lobster that honks when you- Dad? Are- are you mad about something?-_

_-No, Kenji-chan. Of course I'm not,-_ he said, rising back to his feet after being blown through the wall of the building that he and Makashima had been fighting in front of. _-I'm simply fighting Agito Makashima right now, and he's using the Gigantic. I'm a bit annoyed that I never realized that he could use it before now, but I'm not really angry,-_ he lied.

It would simply not do to explain to Kenji just who and what he was angry at; his son would either not understand his reasons, or he would be distressed by the situation. Kenji couldn't stand it when people around him were unhappy. In fact, Kenji was the only member of the Council who had offered his own toys to keep those in the Genesis Tower's holding cells – those who were due to be processed to keep them from causing Chronos in general and Kenji in particular more trouble in the future; those who he was personally going to ensure never troubled his son again – from getting bored. He was such a gentle boy; Imakarum knew that he was just doing what any good father would have, in striving to protect Kenji the way he did.

Pounding relentlessly at the Dark Gigantic's barrier once he was given an opening, Imakarum wove and dodged as the dark Gigantic started attacking again. He hoped that Lord Fried'rich had given the evacuation orders by now; thinking that he would be facing Sho Fukamachi, Imakarum had lead them to this densely populated sector of the city to fight. It was a well-known fact that Sho would refuse to fight in a place where there was even the _slightest_ chance that he would endanger lives other than his own by doing so.

The little fool… Agito Makashima, however, was altogether more dangerous.

"What's the matter, Murakami? Is a simple _barrier_ using up all of your energy?"

_That name again,_ Imakarum snarled inwardly, gritting his teeth and hissing in frustration as he struggled to maintain the integrity of his barrier under Gigantic Dark's continued assault. He was _not_ going to give that arrogant brat the satisfaction of defeating one of the Lords of Chronos; he was insufferable enough now.

Though, perhaps now was time for a different tactic.

_-Dad, are you okay?-_

_-I can't talk right now, Kenji-chan,-_ he said, ducking out of sight behind one of the more intact buildings. _-There's something urgent that I need to take care of.-_

_-But, Dad—_

_-Not now, Kenji,-_ he said, his tone more terse than he would have liked. _-Go take your bath now, Kenji-chan.-_

He hated having to cut Kenji off the way he did; his son would worry, but some things couldn't be helped. Too much distraction during this kind of a battle could easily prove fatal, and he could always go to the Africa Section for a visit, once he had dealt with Makashima. Perhaps he could take Kenji out for ice cream, or some other kind of treat that he would enjoy.

In fact, Imakarum decided, that was just what he was going to do: once Gigantic Dark had been driven off – or preferably killed – then he would take Kenji out for ice cream and smooth over any hurt feelings his abruptness had caused; and all would be well between them once more.


	75. Impact

His personal pledge made, Imakarum dug himself out from under the remains of the wall that had collapsed on him when that annoying Gigantic Dark had blasted him through it, and dashed through the swiftly emptying halls of the building. All he had to do was make it to the other side; Makashima would doubtless be too busy congratulating himself on his supposed victory to notice that his quarry was no longer where he thought. It would take a great deal of energy, this next attack that he was planning, but Imakarum knew that he had very few options left.

Fortunately, Imakarum knew just the place where he would be able to recover from this desperate gambit of his. And Kenji would always be willing to take him in; his son was such a good boy. And he could tell the story of how he'd beaten back the Dark Gigantic with his ultimate technique, dangerous as it had been. Perhaps, though, he would take the chance to lay down beside Kenji while he rested.

The boy always _did_ seem to enjoy a nap after his bath.

Still, all of those plans would have to wait until he had actually _dealt _with the boy; something that he would be particularly happy to do. Concentrating for a long moment, Imakarum fired every one of his Gravity Points, in preparation for this, his ultimate gambit. He was long since past caring if Lord Fried'rich had given the order to evacuate the city; all he wanted was to watch Agito Makashima – Gigantic Dark – die screaming.

As his Virtual Black Hole coalesced at the center of the swirling vortex of his Gravity Points, Imakarum grinned tightly even as he felt the accustomed energy-drain from maintaining the rotations.

"Come to witness your death first hand?!" he taunted, laughing as Agito Makashima came into view from the other side of the building. "Even with the full power of the Gigantic at your command, you're still going to die! You can't hope to comprehend the power of my forbidden weapon, much less endure it! My Virtual Black Hole will tear you limb-from-limb and crush your remains into _dust_!"

The unmoving, alien face of the Dark Gigantic concealed the fear that Makashima must have been feeling at that pronouncement, but Imakarum could still clearly see him, cowering behind his barrier the way he was doing. He couldn't _possibly_ think that a mere barrier, Gigantic or not, would be enough to withstand the full force of Imakarum's Virtual Black Hole. Makashima had to be feeling the futility of his struggle, the despair of his impending death, engulfing his mind the same way that the Virtual Black Hole would soon engulf his body.

Narrowing his eyes as he perceived a subtle change in the energies of his Virtual Black Hole, Imakarum swore softly; things were starting to become more problematic than he had been anticipating. Makashima was still alive, still struggling, and the way his Virtual Black Hole was beginning to behave…

"You should really give up this pointless struggle of yours, Makashima! My Virtual Black Hole is very close to becoming a real black hole, and if that happens, not even I will be able to stop it!"

Feeding in more of his own bio-energy to stabilize the vortex, Imakarum turned his attention back to Makashima. The boy seemed stumped by this turn of events, merely hanging stationary in the air. With only his barrier to protect him, it seemed as though he had at last resigned himself to death. But if that was the case, then why were the five sensors on his head moving in their tracks? And why was he staring so intently at the Virtual Black Hole?

_What the hell are you planning, Makashima you insect?_

The light gathering around the Dark Gigantic let Imakarum know that _something_ was indeed coming, though he couldn't quite figure out the specifics at this point. Given time, he was able to discern that Makashima was preparing to fire his Hyper-Smasher, though what effect the brat thought even _that_ would have on Imakarum's Virtual Black Hole he didn't know. Perhaps even the Dark Gigantic could succumb to panic.

Still, Makashima's calm and unconcerned manner made that seem rather unlikely. But then, what _was_ that arrogant brat planning?

The awesome, terrible light of the Dark Gigantic's Hyper-Smasher burned the air, but was quickly consumed by his Virtual Black Hole. There was nothing that Makashima could do, not against the sheer power of his Virtual Black Hole, so even the fact that the Dark Gigantic fired a second time troubled him much. A sudden upsurge of energy, just before his Virtual Black Hole underwent a truly spectacular midair detonation, shocked Imakarum almost enough to cause him to fall out of the sky.

"What?! That- That's _impossible_!"

"Well, it seems that your Virtual Black Hole wasn't quite the ultimate weapon you were counting on, Murakami! It was the last gamble you could make, and you lost!"

Drawing back as the Dark Gigantic's right fist began to emit the strange glow that signified that it was gathering power for the gravity-enhanced punch that he had been on the wrong end of for one too many times during the course of this battle. Even _once_ had been more than enough.

"And now you die, Murakami!"

A bright burst of light, the unmistakable signature of Zoalord teleportation, obscured the space between Imakarum and the Dark Gigantic.

"What the hell?!"

_-Daddy?-_

He heard a sound like glass shattering; Kenji screamed.

Still frozen with shock as he was, Imakarum couldn't quite manage to get his arms up in time to catch his son when Kenji's – unconscious, thank god – body slammed into him. Watching helplessly as his son fell from the sky, hitting the ocean with force enough to shatter a human body, Imakarum forced his attention back to the loathsome little _worm_ that was responsible for Kenji's current condition. He was just in time to bear witness to the rather interesting spectacle of the Gigantic armor ripping itself free from Guyver III's body and disappearing into that strange cocoon that had once been in Chronos' possession.


	76. Vigilant

Imakarum grinned fiercely; this would make it all the easier to deal with Makashima. To protect his son, he would rend Guyver III limb-from-limb. The arrogant brat seemed confused; obviously not expecting his vaunted "ultimate power" to desert him while there was still an enemy alive to challenge him.

Imakarum knew that he did not have the energy to use any more Gravity Bullets, and he was obviously incapable of unleashing another Virtual Black Hole, but he would not need _any_ of that to rip Makashima's worthless head from his body. He would not need such power to rend the Bastard Son of Chronos limb-from-limb, as he had planned.

"Well now, _you_ seem to be the one at a disadvantage now," Imakarum said, grinning fiercely at the Guyver who would soon lay dead at his feet. "Good. I'll rip you limb-from-limb for what you've done to Kenji!"

"I'm not going to waste my time fighting _you_, Murakami. However, I will give my regards to your son when I send him to meet his mother."

"_No_! I'll kill you before you lay a _finger_ on Kenji!"

Slamming into the Dark Guyver with all the force that his weakened body could muster, Imakarum battered Makashima with his fists until he had managed to get the boy to withdraw, and then diving into the water. Kenji was still down there, unconscious beneath the waves, and if he tried to breathe… That thought spurred him to fly all the faster, and soon he had found Kenji once more.

The poor boy had sunk to the bottom of the ocean by the time that Imakarum had found him. Diving to that depth, he wrapped his arms around his son and held him for a moment. Looking him over, Imakarum found that the only part of Kenji's body that had been damaged was his Zoacrystal.

The crystal itself was spider-webbed with cracks, but that wasn't what affected him the most. Kenji's face, his wide, blank eyes, and his mouth that still hung open – as if he was still trying to scream even now – that was what cut straight to Imakarum's heart. Lifting Kenji into his arms, Imakarum closed his eyes briefly.

What he would have done, had their present situation not been so precarious, was to wrap his arms around Kenji and hold his son close. The fact that they were both underwater made that gesture both futile and rather dangerous. They were inundated; Kenji was unconscious; if he tried to take a breath in this state…

Gently cradling the back of Kenji's head with his left hand, Imakarum pressed his mouth to Kenji's. Sucking out the salt water and spitting it out before he himself could swallow any, he quickly closed his son's mouth and covered both Kenji's mouth and nose with his right hand. _He_ would be able to hold his breath for however long it took for help to arrive, but Kenji wouldn't.

Not with the state he was in.

When Imakarum sensed the presence of another Zoalord, a presence powerful enough – _familiar_ enough – to draw his attention even through his worry, he lifted his head toward the surface of the water, deciding to confirm what he had sensed. Even though he knew that there was very little chance of someone being able to fool the sensed that every Zoalord had of one another.

_-Lord Alkanphel?-_

_-Masaki. I heard Kenji's cry. I presume he's with you?-_

_-Yes, my Lord. Kenji- he's very badly injured; his Zoacrystal, it's…-_

_-I understand. Just wait a few moments, Masaki. I'll be there shortly.-_

_-Yes, my Lord,-_ Imakarum acknowledged, gently stroking the back of Kenji's neck. _-Don't worry, Kenji-chan. Help is coming. Just hold on, my son.-_

Why he said that, even though he knew that Kenji was unconscious and hence wouldn't be able to hear him, Imakarum wouldn't have been able to say. He could remember hearing from someone that coma patients could hear what was being said to them, that they still retained some form of awareness. So perhaps Kenji _had_ heard him, and he just couldn't answer.

A surge of energy drew Imakarum's attention back to those parts of the sky that he could see, just before the water around him – around _them_ – was parted suddenly and completely by a wave of power that couldn't have belonged to any other Zoalord but Lord Alkanphel.

_-I can see that you have been severely weakened, my Masaki. Do you think you will still be able to fly?-_

_-I doubt it, my Lord. I'm sorry, but I used up too much of my energy fighting that accursed Dark Gigantic. I don't think I could manage—_

_-I understand, Masaki. Your concern for Kenji's welfare does you credit.-_

_-Thank you, my Lord,-_ he said, even as he took Kenji into his arms, holding his son close as Lord Alkanphel's energy surrounded the two of them and began to lift them up.

XxXxX

After the destruction that had been caused by Agito Makashima wearing the armor of the Gigantic Guyver, as well as the truly staggering amount that had been caused both before and after the Virtual Black Hole had somehow been detonated, Fried'rich was almost completely unsurprised to find that Imakarum had been knocked into the sea. What _did_ genuinely surprise him was the presence of the light-and-dark blue form of Ingriam in the Twelfth Zoalord's arms. The fact that the boy had left his territory willingly did not speak very well of his dedication to Chronos and to Lord Alkanphel's cause.

Still, it was also possible that Imakarum had called for him, in which case the fault would lie with the Twelfth Zoalord himself.


	77. Zoalords

The expression on Ingriam's face was one of unimaginable agony, and Fried'rich wondered why that was. He wondered, yes, until he caught sight of the boy's Zoacrystal. The cracks spider webbing through the crystal's structure would have been debilitating – and doubtless very painful – for _any_ Zoalord to endure.

"Good heavens, what happened to him?" Fried'rich asked, as he reached out to gently touch young Ingriam Mirabilis' face. The poor boy must have been in a truly horrific amount of pain when the injury had been inflicted.

Thank god he was unconscious.

"Kenji, he… He intercepted… that bastard, Makashima." Imakarum was clearly struggling to coherently describe what had transpired, and even a single glance at his face would reveal the reason for his distress.

Imakarum's eyes were locked on Ingriam's face, and he was almost convulsively stroking the right side of the boy's head. It seemed as if he believed, or perhaps just hoped, that it would revive him somehow. Lord Alkanphel touched Ingriam's face with the utmost gentleness, closing the boy's eyes and mouth even as Imakarum gathered Ingriam up into his arms.

"Lord Alkanphel, where do you and Imakarum intend to take him?" he asked.

"Masaki and I are going to take Kenji to be healed."

"Where do you intend to take him?" Fried'rich repeated, not knowing if he had simply not been heard, or if there was another reason that his query had not been answered.

There were indeed places that he knew of where Ingriam would be able to receive treatment, but he was unsure about just what kind of treatment could be used on a Zoalord with a damaged Zoacrystal.

"It is urgent that we take Kenji to be healed as quickly as possible, Fried'rich. Return to Cloud Gate and gather the rest of the Council," Lord Alkanphel said, his tone not allowing for any more questions.

"I understand," he said, bowing as he turned to take a last look back at Ingriam.

It was indeed important that he be returned to full health with all speed. He was a part of the Council; and even with as childish as he could be and as feckless as he sometimes was, it was quite obvious that Lord Alkanphel cared about him a great deal. As did Imakarum, but as the boy's father that was only to be expected of him.

Turning away as Imakarum and Lord Alkanphel flew off, the former with Ingriam still cradled tightly in his arms, Fried'rich made for the tall and prominently visible doubled-skyscraper of the Japan Section's Cloud Gate building. The Council would need to be gathered as per Lord Alkanphel's orders, and they would doubtless want to know what had happened to Ingriam.

As he continued on his way, Fried'rich wondered briefly what would become of him; still, with the might of both his father and Lord Alkanphel to protect him, Ingriam was truly as safe as anyone could be in this uncertain world.

XxXxX

As he pushed his exhausted body, drawing on his last reserves of energy to remain in the air, Imakarum turned his attention back to Kenji again. He was still breathing deeply and evenly – not gasping or struggling in any way – and there were no injuries at all on his body. His son would have looked completely fine, save for the fact that Imakarum could still see his damaged Zoacrystal when he looked at his son's eerily peaceful face; the fact that he could still feel the unnatural limpness of Kenji's body as he carried him.

His son would have never been like this even if he truly _had_ been sleeping; Kenji would always curl up as close to Imakarum as he could get. And when he was awake while he was being carried, he would always wrap his arms around Imakarum's neck and lean his head against his chest. It was a son's instinct to be as close to his father as he could, Imakarum supposed.

_-Are we almost there, Lord Alkanphel?-_

_-Nearly so, Masaki. Do you feel as if you can no longer fly, my Masaki?-_

_-I'm almost at the end of my endurance, I think,- _he admitted.

_-Hold on for a moment, then.-_

Thankful, but curious about the reprieve, Imakarum halted his forward motion and hung still in the air. Checking on Kenji, in spite of the fact that he doubted that there would be any changes in his son's condition, Imakarum looked back up at Lord Alkanphel as he felt a sudden surge of energy coursing through him. Lord Alkanphel must have known what he was thinking, and he would have truthfully expected nothing less from the Lord of Chronos, because the next thing he did was to turn and speak.

_-That energy replenishment I gave you is not likely to last very much longer, my Masaki. I would therefore suggest that you get some rest once you return to Cloud Gate.-_

_-Yes, Lord Alkanphel.-_

_-Masaki, we've arrived.-_

Looking down, Imakarum saw that there was indeed an island beneath them. A very lush and familiar island, surrounded by fierce whirlpools and shaped vaguely like a crescent moon.

_-Silha, my Lord?-_

_-Yes. Kenji will be safe here while he recovers. I do not trust those loathsome Thunderbolts not to have a presence in any other part of the world. And, since that wretched little gnat Guyver III already knows the state that Kenji is in, it's very likely that he would try to finish what he started.-_


	78. Stasis

_He already tried that…_ Caressing Kenji's head, even as he and Lord Alkanphel descended toward the temple that had been constructed in Lord Alkanphel's honor, Imakarum was scrupulously careful not to disturb the shards of Kenji's Zoacrystal. Something like that could delay Kenji's recovery, hurt him worse, or even kill him outright. As they made their way into Lord Alkanphel's temple, Imakarum transformed out of his battleform to conserve the remainder of the energy that Chronos' Supreme Overlord had been generous enough to give him.

Once they both stood in the room where Lord Alkanphel slept, Imakarum wondered what would become of Kenji. It was doubtful that his son would ever recover if he wasn't given access to a processing-tank. There weren't any processing-tanks in the temple, however, merely the stone bed where Lord Alkanphel slept.

"Masaki, come with me."

Obediently, Imakarum followed, still wondering just where and how Kenji would receive treatment. When he saw the large, obviously organic pod standing in the center of the room adjacent to the one where Lord Alkanphel slept, he realized that the Zoalord of Zoalords had indeed been considering all of Kenji's needs when he had lead the three of them to Silha. He should have never doubted his Lord's advice; he would have to remember to apologize later, but for now Kenji's health and continued survival were his paramount concern.

Lord Alkanphel would understand; he cared for Kenji as well.

Making his way over to the pod, with Kenji's insensate form starting to weigh more heavily on his mind with every step, Imakarum wondered just how he was expected to get Kenji inside of it. There was clearly no way to retract it, as was done with the processing-tanks that all Chronos facilities were equipped with; this was made quite plain by the fact that the pod was securely anchored to the ceiling and floor of the room by thick, rootlike structures.

He barely noticed Lord Alkanphel's presence, so absorbed as he was in contemplating how it was that he would get Kenji inside the pod so that his son would be able to receive treatment for his injuries. Until he felt Kenji's limb body being removed from his arms; Imakarum turned to look at Lord Alkanphel, curious to know what his Lord wanted with his son.

"I can take of things from here, Masaki," Lord Alkanphel said, as he held Kenji in his arms and stepped forward until he was almost touching the pod. "You should return to Cloud Gate and get some rest."

Imakarum was torn for a moment, on the one hand there was obedience to his Lord, and on the other was his duty to his son. But Lord Alkanphel would understand; he had to, he loved Kenji too.

"My Lord, if I may?"

Lord Alkanphel nodded wordlessly, so Imakarum stepped forward and gently laid his hand on the right side of his son's head, just between his ear and two of his Gravity Points.

"I promise that we'll go to Maine as soon as I can arrange transportation for us, Kenji-chan," Imakarum said, as he stroked the side of his son's head and hoped that the boy would be able to hear him somehow. "Just- please get better soon."

As he turned away, leaving as he had been ordered to not so very long ago, Imakarum noticed two things. The first was that his face and eyes were wet, he'd been crying; the second was the fact that Lord Alkanphel was radiating an almost palpable curiosity at him. Wiping the tears from his eyes, Imakarum turned back to his Lord.

"What is in Maine that would be of interest to you, Masaki?"

"Kenji's mother's parents live there, my Lord," he said, his gaze resting on Kenji almost instinctively before he turned his attention back to Lord Alkanphel. "Kenji has expressed an interest in meeting them."

"So, they would be blood relations of his," Lord Alkanphel said, staring at his son with what Imakarum took to be a contemplative expression. "I will have Shin investigate their whereabouts."

Bowing, both in deference and as a gesture of thanks to Lord Alkanphel for his kindness, Imakarum left the temple for his room at Cloud Gate. He hoped that Kenji would be well by the time he returned; after Lord Shin had found Miaka's family. But, with Lord Alkanphel to take care of him, Imakarum knew that he had very little reason to worry.

He still did, of course; the way any good father would.


	79. Sanctuary

When Masaki had left, and Kenji had been placed inside his lifepod to rest and heal from the damage done to his Zoacrystal, he was left to consider the import of Masaki's parting words. The fact that Kenji still possessed living relatives was a point of interest. Of course, there was a reason that he had requested that Shin be the one to find out about these humans, not only because his territory encompassed the state where they were known to live, but because Shin was more capable of judging the character of humans than any of his other children, save for Fried'rich.

Masaki's memories of Kenji's mother gave him the impression that he would have enjoyed meeting the woman; perhaps she would have even proved worthy of becoming one of his children, he knew that Masaki would have liked that.

Still, Miaka Murakami – Melissa Chapman, as she was once called – could have easily been the exception among her family, and he would _not_ expose his youngest son to humans such as those that Shin had discovered not so long ago. Such humans barely had any right to _live_, much less to associate with an innocent such as Kenji. Looking back to the youngest of his Zoalords, the boy who had been willing to put himself in harm's way simply to ensure that none of that harm came to his father, Alkanphel found himself remembering the last time that he had seen the Advents.

Like Kenji, he too had intervened to protect those he cared about from a Guyver's assault; only he had been cast aside for his efforts. Alkanphel was determined to do anything and everything in his power to make certain a similar fate did not befall the youngest of his sons.

_Kenji, you have more than proven your worth as one of my children. Now live, so that Masaki and I may tell you this personally,_ he decided against using his telepathy; a simple scan of Kenji's mind had shown him that the boy would not respond to such.

Patting his lifepod, watching as Kenji's comatose form continued to float in the center of the fluid, Alkanphel wondered what the child would see while he dreamed. He had never had cause to place one of his children into his lifepod before this, and it had been such a long time since he had slept anywhere but on the stone bed that he could only vaguely recall the sensation of being where Kenji was now.

**End "Days of Fire and Thunder"**

_The saga continues in "The Stranglehold Protocol"_


End file.
